Ophelia (4)

What is your name, sweet lady?

drips of river rain from your fingertips

fall upon my warm face

fragrance of potent blossoms sorrow

follow when you leave this place

Here to watch over me in sleep,

protectress of young girls' dreams

I felt you in the stories I tell my daughters

unborn and ever ascending

from some dark place of deep desire

Illusion proclaims your presence

night and day hold you in their hands

songs of warmth and water cold

alight upon your tongue like snow

from the stone faces of drowned angels

What is your name, sweet lady?

I burned to know since I saw your face

She speaks,

I am Ophelia,

the dream that you cannot escape