I was born too late and I am much too old,
My dear Hamlet,
To be your pimply Ophelia,
To let my hair like flattened wheat
Spread over the dark waters
And upset the floating water lilies
With my floating eyes.
To glide fish-like between fishes.
Sink to the bottom like a dead seashell,
Burrow in sand next to shipwrecks of love,
I, the amphora, entangled in seaweeds.
I’d rather you take off my dress.
Let it fall by my feet like aspen leaves
The wind shakes without permission
As if there’s nothing to it.
I’d rather have that death sentence:
Eternity of your arms around my neck.