by Sara Sarna
The river slides past,
constantly renewing,
eddies and ripples
telling stories
of things I cannot see
beneath reflections
of trees and sky.
A silken surface
on which I could dream.
In this moment
I understand Ophelia,
beckoned by the water,
though I would not
choose Elizabethan dress,
but something more
buoyant
to carry me
on its current.
© 2024 Sara Sarna All rights reserved.
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