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What can you do but hold your hand out in the dark?
I just got home and I wanted to write about several things including the Oscars, but Ursula K. Le Guin has died. I was just looking at her latest collection of nonfiction in the bookstore. Knocked the keystone out of your arch, didn't it? I can't estimate her importance to me and right now I'm not going to try. I learned about words from her (I learned to swear from her Coyote). Winter gave me language for myself and Orsinia gave me ways of looking at history. She was one of the writers I studied as well as loved, prose and poetry, whatever genre she worked in and whether I thought it worked or not; she cared about the true names of things and things that can't be simply spoken. The last time I had to talk about her, I wrote a poem. Everything is in boxes but her Complete Orsinia (2016), so I will read it. I always wanted one more tale from that imaginary country. I talk about landscape: she was a galaxy.
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Thank you. I have been saying that I knew she wasn't immortal, but I wanted her to be. So that's what her words are for.
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Exactly.