I wrote this Aug 10, 2007 in the hospital waiting room, invoking some of her favorite things August 6th, 2010

ON YOUR OPERATION IN WHICH THEY FOUND CANCER The bees didn't stop their buzzly prodding, -- understandably, for it is so important. But the flowers, whose work is in their being, paused, sensing love of color swirling on the all-known wind, and opened wider for news of the beloved. The grasses, colonies of them ruffled by that same wind, full of shared attention, green, and sere, knew this thing of quiet import was underway somewhere and allwhere at this very moment, where you were and are. Here and elsewhere millions of cats and kittens -- stretched on couches and windowsills, tucked alert beneath bird-drenched trees, well-licked and well-rested, soft and savvy -- stopped their adventures in stillness, stealth, stroking, and smoothly self-assured positions to sense the silent cosmic shift in your world, love. They say there are years left. What do they know of years, of yours, of choice -- free, sober, succulent, tasting of today and today and today, forever. Your life will find its way as the rainbow finds its way with flowers, and they will never catch you whether you are here woven into visibility with the rest -- or everywhere, like light, shadow-dancing, unseen and all-revealing, finding eyes, tracing blazes into the wind-washed depths of each night's endless sky.