Ophelia's throat

dredge the river for me / a comb
through amber / no sound. her,
weedy, dripping, found needle
the wrong way pointing, a song
unwound. sweet clock, ribs
unseaming, undone stomach.
these, the feet, corset, teeth.
as for me, juniper comes closest.
no rosemary, you have
her tongue. a nun's knees,
the hydrocephalic face. testify
liars to madness, a name
for grief. you and I are the same,
dancing away, not sorry
to see her go.

***

This is the new working title for the book in development. Today I am going to get back into the habit of magazine submissions. Hideous, tedious process that it is. But it's thunderstorming outside and productivity seems like a good idea. I give myself about two hours before cabin fever sets in and I have to go do something else.