Songbirds tumbled from her ears
and swept down the cliff-edges in her hair
to swoop away and out – out of the way
of the turbulence of her drowning –
they skipped across the ripples in the lake
and dodged the mountainous willow leaves,
cuttling out of dodge, as Ophelia wept.
The nest dissolved, feathers strewn
like starlight to halo her descent
into the swamps of happy mouths
laughing and clapping water
into happy tide and tidings that ring out
and clamour until stuck fast in muddy death,
Lap-lap-lapping applause, as Ophelia slept.