Fluent

For McJay  
   
Her words are esoteric but always resonate  
Each lovingly selected  
Some illustrative with precision  
Others conducting a merry chase  
One that leads back to her front door  
She unfailingly grants entrance  
Her grace immediately apparent as she writes  
Stoic, brave but insistently playful  
Her idiosyncrasies a priviledge, not a problem  
A portrait of Mother Theresa stifling a laugh  
Still heard in one line after another  
"You make me sky"  
One of her latest that remains after hours  
Making me both cry and smile  
Examining a stratum of pleasure  
But noticing one of pain    
That will pass, ground to blood and dust  
Returning to her lover's arms  
Listening to the rarest of her words  
His comments gentle and amused,  
Looking up "amaranthine"
A celebration, not an end.