What a talent — and what a life! My condolences to her family, should they look in here.
Sounds as if she "went light." I dearly hope so.
Going Light
by Ann Drysdale
They call it “going light”, the loss of substance
That goes with the failing of the spirit
When the end comes.
My old dog went light just before he died.
His thin bones whispered in his hairy skin
And went to sleep
And all that was left of him was the light
That faded slowly as his eyes went dim;
The other light.
Going light, light going. It was as if
I had perceived a sort of sense in it
For a moment.
Two kinds of light, making an hourglass
Laid on its side between weight and darkness;
The shape of dying.
Death is the snapping of the narrow neck
In between substance and oblivion
And that is all.
And as you come near to the glass isthmus
I wish for the breaking to be gentle.
Go light, my love.
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