Her burial place is in the records.
We have her lovely name.
She was a benefactor of the friary,
Thus, a prominent soul.  Agreed.
Her story, lost forever.  O, what a shame.
Nothing more is known of Emma.
Here's her 5 minutes of fame!

I wish I were,
at this very moment,
at a coffee-bar-bookshop;
walking through the isles
in my tee-shirt and underwear,
sipping a triple shot latte,
eyeing books longingly,
fondling pages and
smelling ink;
my mouth pasty,
my hair wildly
riding my head,
-two in the freaking morning;-
it would feel good
to just sit at a little
table in the corner
and watch the lifeless,
the insomniacs, or shift workers
sipping coffee, staring blankly.

Are words harmless?  Can they ever be benign?
Between you and I?-

And, how many times has the Soul mated and re-mated?
Tearing, scarring, and numbing the connection.

Is that how and why, we keep this distance?
Or, Love, is it fear of perfection?

We drove because we saw the top of the mountain covered with snow.
Our desire was to feel its beauty.  As we traveled up and up
The forest encapsulated us with its velvety-richness; and the sound,
My heart pounding and the cascading waterfalls, played the music of the Soul
In the forest.  On we drive up the narrow road until there is no coming down.

You come to my bed with prose written on your skin
And because of your love stories I let you in.

I would rather have honey than candied treats
And the nature of you makes it twice as sweet.

Your art and your song complete my thoughts
By your candlelight’s glow my heart is taught

To open wide to the possibility of you.

Meet me under the apricot-sky
And linger

Until the ember-coal-moon shines
In the Dutch-oven-dark heavens

Then sigh when I sigh.

I will look upon your face
And I will love it, Sweet Gentle.
I will love it, soft and tender,
Wrinkle by wrinkle.