Monday, December 13, 2010

For Mary Ruefle

I type out words with soundless clacks

as you read poetry to an audience I was 

never in. 


Should I say that your voice sounded

smooth like the surface of a marble

table?


Or that your words sound like those 

of an imagination of a life well lived?



I'd rather not think of how to describe 

you, I'd rather just listen, and watch.


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