How the elements solidify!
The moonlight, that chalk cliff
In whose rift we lie
Back to back. I hear an owl cry
From its cold indigo.
Intolerable vowels enter my heart.
Secondly, her attention to the cavorting beasties and her comprehensive vision, as demonstrated here:
The crabs
Inched from their pygmy burrows
And from the trench-dug mud, all camouflaged in mottled mail
Of browns and greens. Each wore one
Claw swollen to a shield large
As itself--no fiddler's arm
Grown Gargantuan by trade,
Yep, I will definitely be reading more of her in the future. And I'm curious to know what her prose is like. Just look at this:
He won't be got rid of:
Mumblepaws, teary and sorry,
Fido Littlesoul, the bowel's familiar.
A dustbin's enough for him.
The dark's his bone.
Call him any name, he'll come to it.