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