Memory

She is a fugitive
Hiding in plain sight
Living loudly in the day
Sleeping safely in the night.

She is a poet
Rhyming deftly her life
Her days a published letter
As edged as any knife.

She is music
Her purposes recorded in grooves
And her actions the stylus
Her lifetime gently soothes.

She is august brilliance
Remembered in lightening blaze
Her memory burning daily
Shinning brightly through the haze.

She is, to me, sacred memory
And the kindling I require
To warm my aging memory
With the comfort of her fire.