—From a collage by Marsha Connell
A woman bedecked in flowers
a royal wedding barge of her body
pulled over the sea, Ophelia, here's for rue—
an adolescent dream of beauty and of peace
where the coral blossoms full strength.
she has grown useless alizarine wings
that were once maple seeds
but she cannot fly under the sea.
Two oranges hastily rise, the sun,
its doppleganger pouring forth from the pitcher.
The eclipse poured out of the frame, changed the world.
The kelp undulates in a secret mystery dance of its own.
Small fish come to listen to the knocking of stones
along the shoreline, intransient as stone
where the mock orange bends, shedding white tears
onto milady's gown, which will surely pull her down.
Full fathom five, and she is singing, as she goes down.
Hands articulating the notes, madness transcends
itself into art. The play's the thing,
The bride returns to water, the sphere of her birth.
Sleeping Beauty, someday her prince will come.
Summer 1992
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