Narcissus bends, transfixed before the screen,
his index finger drifting, as though sailing
the surface of this new Anthropocene
the global neural network keeps detailing.
And when, by chance, the fingertip rests still
over the fickle border of the present,
the sunny breeze gives way to lunar chill
and twilight spreads its grayscale, strangely pleasant.
The screen, reflected on his dreamy eyes,
grows pensive, likewise reaching for a clearer
reflection of itself in paradise.
Its grasp of it fades out as it grows nearer,
like zooming renders pixels imprecise.
This pool is but the mirror of a mirror.
Note: This poem was a winner of the Third Wednesday's Annual Poetry Contest.