For her song and flight, Echo is torn apart, art
flung limb by singing limb. Each valley swallows, allows
her voice. In another tale, a flame enchants chance
encountersNarcissus, who never returns, turns
her love to stone. Rocks, caves, dens, the hollow hollow
of bones become her homethe old echoes, O's
that round our inner lives like the concentric trick
rings inside trees, reverberate for years, our ears
Our voices rise and leave, traveling, raveling, veiling
currents across the sea, longing to reach each
Atlantis, locate shapes that sounds recallcall
back the world, as it was first encountered, heard.
Diane Thiel, 2000.