No wonder all the poetry has left my soul today.
The world has lost one of its great flowing portals of light,
one of the greatest poetic prose-ists of our day.
She was a rich twilight glow,
at once warm and inviting –
and bruised with untold pain.
She let anguish and ecstasy flow through her soul
and out her fingertips.
She wove stories of breathtaking hardships
and small daily injustices,
triumphs and tragedies
into the fabric that made fictional worlds so vivid
I feel like I lived them myself.
I bet it wasn’t always easy, or painless.
I bet she could have given up,
or written less,
or more shallowly from within her wells of wisdom and
compassion,
but she did not hide her light under a bushel,
and for that I am deeply grateful.
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