One day I will come to the forest
And seek out the tallest pine
Oozing transparent amber
Down the scaly dragonlike spine.
I will wrap my arms around it,
Keep still on the inbreath and pine.
When waiting and mourning are over,
My skin will have turned to bark,
With moss on my cheek and eyebrow
Leaving its silvery mark.
Like an antique garden statue,
White over shrubbery dark.
When Ophelia let herself stumble
Into water’s consoling embrace
And found among weeds and pebbles
Mercy, and respite, and grace,
There was no one to see a shadow
Of a smile upon her face.
Everyone seems to be weeping.
Everyone seems to agree
That her fate was bitter and fearful.
Everyone except me.
For nature’s a better lover
Than a human could ever be.
Now she found her home in the shallows.
In a circle of seashells she lies
With liquid pearlescent eyelids
And peaceful unseeing eyes,
Lulled to a languorous slumber,
And that would surely suffice.