Rest in peace, sweet Monnie, maker of portraits, gardens, and living rooms.
The Great Train
Monnie across the street believes
She’s travelling in a great train
And travelling far;
Tonight she dines in the dining car,
The meat is sweet
but the soup is thick and tastes
a little bit like tar,
all the same, you come too,
she softly croons, patting my hand
while through the glass her gaze remains
on the changing plains, the clearing rain,
the stars, the stars, the stars.
(first appeared in Think Journal)