Ophelia

 

Ophelia was only twenty-two.

They say she drowned in a small brook.

A branch broke and dropped her.

Unlikely – both the branch and the shallow brook.

She was sad. Perhaps, mad.

The brook, to the river, to the sea.

Not death but part of something larger.

Fresh water. Salt.

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In Fever

spinnerBy degrees, words slip into my mind

and spin into lines that make sense

in this fevered moment, but will later

read as the impassioned words of another –

madman, prophet, troubled soul, friend, lover, murderer.