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Ophelia’s Bouquet

by Daniel Robinette

From the safety of the shore

We sit in utter silence

And look out in wonderment

As the flowers pass by us

Twirling along the currents

Of the lazily running river.

Drawn and called this way

And that with each ebb and flow,

Cascading around stones and logs,

As though teasing, daring to be caught,

To be grasped, assured in their abilities

To hold out, to remain just out of reach.

Dreams untouchable, floating

Weightlessly past all who want to collect them,

Hold them. Enticing all those

Who wrap their dreams of love about them,

Who wander aimlessly

In search of them; who swear by their names,

And recall the tender touch of the petals

Against their cheek, their lips.

From the safety of the shore

We sit in a moment of awed silence

And watch as a burgundy stream

Seems to pool about the petals,

As though to kiss them softly before departing,

  And from these pools

Crimson ribbons depart,

Floating past, drawing designs

Before fading into the waters soft blue glow,

Disappearing and being carried across the world,

  Touching every corner of existence.

This supple dance will go on forever.

From the safety of the shore

We talk over many things,

Kings and princes,

Wars and love,

  We talk of most everything with ease and laughter

With words apart from life,

Free from loss, free from the tolls

That speeches carry upon them.

Let the wills and the wants of God’s

Dance from our tongues

With the lightness of a sleeping man’s laughter,

With the ease of a lovesick sigh.

We decry the ills and make our demands,

Set forth plans to see the world saved,

The path seems so clear,

From the shady spots along the river banks.

From the safety of the shore

We watch the cloud reflection

Roll by in the still pools of the water

And we think of who else is watching

These skies, and we feel

For that moment all beneath this sun

Are one and the same, a band of

Brothers, family joined by the

Virtuous miracles of life. We

Laugh, in soft loving madness’s

Of the dreams we have of life

And all the days that lay before

Us still. And in the subtle melody

Of the babbling brooks lament

We feel a peace come over us

And think perhaps that all is well

For how could such a peace be disturbed.

And over in the reeds I hear

The strangest rustling sounds

As though something more has

Floated down the stream.

And I am tempted to venture over

And find their cause, but another

Flurry of flowers catch my eye.

And I laugh softly at the thought

That nothing more could matter

Than to lay safely upon the shore

And wonder with gentle glee

Where all the flowers are coming from.

Daniel Robinette lives and writes in Asheville, Nc.

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November 2018

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