You slip though my fingers now
like fine sand
although you grew to be you
beneath my hand
you are everyone
I ever wanted you to be
just better
than I hoped you could be
and you wear yourself
so easily
like you are exactly who you
were meant to be
you inhale the day
like it’s here to stay
or not
you make me smile
with pride
by living out loud.

Green-stroked leaf
over lapis door
with four panels -
black vinyl
perches shining,
a motorcycle,
a motorcycle.

It enters her eye,
the day's spillway
laid down
to beige page.
Color and form,
thrown from her hand,
thrown from her hand.

This morning I watch
knitted clavicles of light
hurtle in and up the wall
in my half-packed
living room, while cubes
of fresh spring hew
strongholds in the
birded birch yard.
But I am ready to leave
all of it for the ruptured
gray weeks, the rain lash,
the fog bars, the burnt sea,
the little tilts of rainbow -
for her - would she have me?

is a circle.
The
minefield of
breathing.

I inhale.

The rasp of a door

hinge.

Gone to rust.

Pieces of
time.

Jigged thoughts…

clang of
chains.

Soggy Days.

Lie wet
leaves.

Rain..

The air pushed.

Behind me a
young woman

falls.


Caroline Shank
9.24.22

there are
seven wonders of the world
and I am sitting here
eating dinner
trading words
passing time
with three of them.

afterwards
I regretted the words
that I had said
but not half as much as
I regretted
the life
that I had led.

I know I hold the brush
but I cannot paint a stroke of paint
upon the canvas of out life
our colours are unclear
our future blurred in fear
and fuchsia
nobody can live in fuchsia
no matter how hard they try.