She had the blazing beauty of those poets
whose eyes have opened to the raging blast
of a word well placed.
As such, age would not get to her
the way she would get to age
and I don’t know who she was
and I don’t know if she was at all.
Still, I could have pinned every single word
that I imagined her oracle spark would spill
to the walls of my long gone apartment
In my worst acolyte rags I could plead
guilty as charged
of wandering, as a peer
in the shadow of her art