Taken as metaphor ...
Ophelia's funeral oration,
derogatory snout
of the Morning Glory
breathing pollened fire
overladen steps of the church.
II
Limestone rock
caulking in grey
limpid cracks ...
doublet and hose
then gold doubloons
down sunlit honey
where a smear of red lichen
onto brown-yellow moss
colonizes rock.
III
Poor Ophelia, dicing
for a sedentary-free Hamlet,
duty-free of fissures + frost.
IV
Elusiveness,
water rushing over stone
torrent of words
(Ophelia receiving these),
red hand of the berry
swollen shut,
prisoner in the dock
bird of quarry, pit
& gunny sack.
V
Night plummets to quarry,
sky to earth in brazen glory.
Magic of the palm
spans an upturned hand ...
"To each his own
nothing's known."