The floor puckers and tips beneath her weight as she pushes towards the lilies, their yellow stamens snug inside a white corolla – droplets freckle her arms with brightness as she rows. When she plucks a flower and pulls it close, lemon dusts her lip. Ophelia stretches out full length, her neck a pale bridge arcing over the bow, her hair flung out like an auburn wing on the surface of the water. From stem to stern, she inhabits this blue shell. Her fingers tangle in slick green leaves, her arms float on tea-colored waves. She recalls the willow she climbed so long ago and the branch that would not break. Dragonflies circle the little suns beyond her. Far-off motors whirr as their wake nudges the hull. Light spills from her palms and blesses the honeyed body of the lake.