Orphelic Ruminations

Through the brooding waters I see your
sad face elongate, pale to a rippling
sheet, so anxious in your search for me among 
unraveled rope splices and green bottom stones. 
My totems.

Seaweed cradles my head.
Coral forms my rough cot.
Fish bend for their nightly prayers
at phosphorescent gown's hem.

You pine for a pink-cheeked mirage, dear heart,
her legs still wrapped, laughing, 'round
your waist; not this dead lover more
suitable for Chambered Nautilus or
finned thrashing playmates of the deep.

Taking pity, at last, I drift up
through the fathoms, press ectoplasmic
lips to your warm ones, murmur words
you've waited for these long months 
of vigil, until Sirens circle to bear me 
out to where only the bravest dare follow.

Pris Campbell

Art: Orphelia by Frances McNair
Click on the image to see a larger version of this beautiful painting.

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