Untitled requiem for E -

I remember when you wove beauty from the sky in purple hues and bands of green and gold A woman of passion and fire, who painted the Sangres, who drank deeply from mountain streams. I long to see you take up your brushes and your loom once again, old friend. The West has become a faded memory behind your eyes. Banked fires hold the heat of youth, of memory and desire… You live now among green hills and fields unbroken by time Driftless in a cocoon of memory; mute, with tales untold.