From The Poet's Life #1 Poem by Daniel Brick

She drifted like Ophelia
not aware of her plight
as gentle currents lifted her
far above the muddy bottom, enveloping
her in the fragrance of flowers
made melodious by her whispered
singing. Her half-sleep kept her
safe as she passed the haunts
of men in drunken anticipation,
snoring into the opposite direction.
She slept through both the danger
and her escape, and came to rest
on a small beach along a grove
of still sleeping trees. Her sleep
merged with theirs in a perfect union.

I know this how? Because I was a walker
through the trees, absorbing like them
the morning light. It was another union
of perfection. But the sight of her, lovely
in the pale light, strands of brown hair
across her face, startled me, as she lay
in her essential innocence, without a trace
of guile. Oh, there must have been nearby
some nymph who filled my mind with knowledge
of her soul. Perhaps that same nymph erased
all fear from her mind: she smiled at me
and her body glided to a sitting position.
I bowed to hear her soft voice, and she took it
to be a surrender to her service. And thus
I became a servant of this Ophelia, and
came as close to ideal beauty as is permitted
to me. I rejoice to breathe a common source
of air with her, and feel my heart swell,
since she is untouchable to my hand and mouth.