In an elegant room, where Mahler’s music
and Monet’s watercolors captured our ears
and eyes, the one original spirit was Dee’s.

Mourning doves perched outside her
window, their soft, drawn-out songs
— laments. She listened softly.

Dee blessed the gentle breezes;
her blonde hair danced in the trees,
her voice like the girl from Ipanema.

She could challenge anything, could
dare anyone with her witty speech
along with that deep reach.

Dee’s sister Aroha and son Michael,
along with many others, remained
uncertain: Which did they prefer—

The concern in her questions,
the mystery of her smiles, or
creativity she couldn’t quell?

Picking up flowers covering the ground,
Dee made bouquets in sweet pleasure.
Dee’s fervor crossed her path, entwined

In radiance, in sadness. Oh you, who
honored Dee’s beauty, why were you
so busy day and night?

Pause a moment, sense the light in
Dee. Her blood and breath held all
that we have loved and will cherish.

She chanted hymns in church choirs
crooned her heart out with the blues
in jazz clubs galore. Dee’s foresights

Into the profound joy of travel led her
to myriads of sights. Her visions
of capturing far-away places with

Her unique art soared— shaping
all that was new, stunning. In Israel,
Egypt, Portugal, Michael reveled as

Mother transformed pyramids
into drawings, savoring how she
changed Jerusalem into watercolor.

Michael with brother Geoff watched
as Dee altered into oil paintings.
Over the decades, Dee molded

Porcelain plates: painting French vineyards,
birthday parties, weddings. Her plates were
endless. Oprah bought them.

Thoughtfully, Dee turned out designs, laying
them on the altar of her art. Even in her last days,
she made and gave art. Imagine Dee’s visions in

The sky hastened, softly wandering as twilight
clouds rising, sweeping with her exquisite discernment. While she dreamt in presence

Of beauty, Dee saw how she had lived long,
free with music, loving song, painting, drawing
until the showers cascaded, inside rainbows.

Dee adored silver Pacific waves,
slipping under the horizon. One afternoon,
while sprinkling tenderness, she slept

for the ages holding our restless, hurting hearts
in quietude, she joined the stars.