Ophelia
Ophelia inspeacktress precocious, oh so
Precocious but so ill, so ill
Holding flowers, holding herbs, hanging down
Like a woman's perspired hair
The cold white light of Vermeer and the blood-brown
Leaves of anti-spring
Moving to each other as astringency
Moving to each other as contradiction
The wound and the tending hand do kiss, kiss
Discipline dance number one
I am looking for your latest letter, the one
In which you say you're so-so-so
Much better, much better now
I am waiting for you at the little window
The one that lets the light in to the table where
You sat, like posing for your portrait, the
Girl with no hope
The wound and the tending hand do kiss
I am waiting for you... but the days... like tiny tiny beads...
Slip away like a broken necklace