I heard a fly buzz by my head
While I was fishing at the creek
And Emily’s poems were in my car
In a book checked out a week.
I sat still as water passed
I was alive before the storm,
I thought of her in cold, cold ground
And the stillness of her form.
The rain drops splashed on thinning hair
As I climbed slowly, not too far
Lightning flashed and thunder rolled
And I read her poetry in my car.