Isaac was my first reader, the only person I trusted to critique my fumbling attempts at writing my own poems. He was a great reader, even then: unsentimental but generous, enthusiastic to a fault. He was a much better writer than I was then, but he took me seriously as a poet. He was the first person who ever did.
Please read my tribute to one of my oldest friends, “Love, Isaac,” published on The Archipelago. This was a hard one to write; I hope it’s a good one to read.