She Knew
Although well-versed in leafy academe, she knew they helped her not at all, those skills — to parse, to rhyme a scheme, to sketch a plot, to hear the dying fall of scribbled footsteps echoing in the growing gloom. Though of an age meetly deemed maturing, she knew that mice-like lines which grow along the very bottom of a page signified, at last, quite next to naught; that, frail or strong, old age should rightly rage through the lengthening night, should strive to flame and flare and cut the darkness clean to filaments of light. Though learned in the very rare and rarefied imaginings...
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