Warhorse

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."