'Death singles out the great, ' br and as this year's low sun subsided br it singled you - and the untrodden airwaves, br the fluttering impulse of internet br and clatter of movable print locked in cases br and blocked into pages of books - br the thump on the desktop, another pamphlet, br laser printed, hand-folded and sewn br in fabled back-bedrooms of little press offices, br at the forefront of speaking and writing, br for people, by people - br and the rhythmed babble of poets br as they speak out, and write out - br br All this stopped dead for you just before Christmas. br We all stopped in the week we would have stopped anyway, br as your image and influence readjusted itself br and was seen for what it had always been - br brave exposure of lies, the music br of 'buttercups and landmines', br the shift of perception when a prophet br arrives in his own country, br in both our countries, overlong married, br permanent mutual lodgers, our languages br interwoven and melded br so we cannot untangle where one starts or ends - br the occasions, the years you spoke out for us. br br It is up to us how well you are rewarded br for the hot spark of your words as they travel, br their iron.