ECTOPIC

After the Legend of Llyn y Fan Fach

Here I am my own myth

        my reflection intervening  

                between me and my water nymph

The lake pleating me

        marmoreal scaled

                as she comes back to herself, 

                       voluptuously

Folds of glassy flesh

        to crumple ironed men;

                pinstriped forests

dipping the toes of their heads

        as the wind purrs; the lake gulps

                a whole landscape balanced 

                        on her porous back

If I was writing 

        in the third person I could see myself

                symmetried like lungs or wing-

mirrors, my vertiginous self 

        and me supined, conjoined at the place

                a shadow begins

If I were writing in the third person I would see

        one wing fletched 

                by the winds susurrations

would urge my other half

        to flinch her wing 

                of body, but I see the lake creak

her rusty hinges; a face mutated by concentric 

        circles as the rain knocks, like a bad joke

               without waiting for answers