In memory of Roman Kozak, my Russian acting teacher, whose teaching was ferried to us by his translator Tatiana.

Tati

In tandem, they sat

Her thoughts on mute as she watched

Seeing what he saw and speaking as he spoke,

Tripping out one phrase at a time,

Clipping the shadow words to the heels of his speech.

They cannot imagine his voice

Without her meaningful echo

She was the twist on his lens

That brought focus to his outpourings.

Now alone, she sits

Still and wordless

Knowing he will not come again

To pour wisdom from her mouth.