the poetry instructor

she's eighty three now.
my former professor of poetry.
she calls
to tell me about her new book.
she's still at it.
her lines are clear and clean.
stanzas neat
and boxed.
her images full and ripe
with metaphors.
the subtle hints of her life.
each day she writes and writes.
i can see her now
at her desk. the window
facing the river.
thinking about all of us
she taught. some still at it.
some having gone another way.