I live on a small (25 sq. mile) island, accessible only by ferry.

                                                  <>

“For we are dear to the immortal gods,
Living here, in the sea that rolls forever,
Distant from other lands and other men”

—Homer, the Odyssey (translated by Robert Fitzgerald)

                                                    ­  <>

sea air inoculates the slowing breath-taking ferried voyager,
our landed cares felled, fall into a wake, trailing, sunk & submerged,
a ferry’s ramp contact-clangs, belling a “Here, Here!” alters our mien,
the softening airy enveloping, fragrantly, a greeting of immortal gods

no matter that we can vision-easy the neighboring isles, with
their trafficked-light busyness, the to and fro of mainland life,
bustle necessity of hustle, our riveted river moat cancels out
imposing surround sounds, our untucked flavor, floating free

wafting perfume of quiet inlet, creek and harbour, touch us safely,
alternating currents of gentle breeze, stiffer sailing winds, gusts,
bending us, these reminders, we humans too, creatures of elementals,
water, sun, forest, sand, animals, singular upon co-hosted menagerie

the brackish water, where fresh + marine waters mix, live + die,
reflecting our pooling diversity, so few of us born here, yet so many,
adopt and adapt the isle’s peculiarities, endearing all without any
distinction, we blessed together by Immortal Gods to shelter together,

by, from, the seas that roll us into one peaceful island, nearly, dearly,

and now departed

                                                      ­ <>


Shell Beach,
Shelter Island
August 2021

..I'm
running
dry

stagnating
in these crude resides

too easily
this wind-farmed face
betrays my base emotions

As the alleyways incarcerate,

their nauseating politics
unqualify my
sympathetic
ear


Therefore..


If I appear
uninterested
its just
because


I am

We were only ever
moving through..


A transient
encounter pinked
in sprinkled serendipity

had synchronised
our step

and having met
before the bested peaks
of all that seemed unlikely
we stayed close.


Through
needless plays
of problematic metaphor,
we laughed and wept,
deplored enforced morality,
embraced a great unknown,

explored the cultic
sympathies, arrested
in our infancy
and swore an oath
eternal to the greenery
regrown..



..while knowing
well, the day will come
when one moves on
alone

no shinning light

ambulances and cop cars and nightmares
concrete and ashes 

streets too dead for dreaming

the abandon buildings
like tombstones waiting


as night edges prison walls
in the vanishing landscape

we were kings of the neon sky


and when the bars close
through puddles of lost tomorrows
running every red light
on main street

in a sun turned black as night


we were the kings of the neon sky

once inside a woman s heart
tell no sweet lies

she loves the unlovable

so hold her closer

kiss her tenderly

thunder and lightning
a slow dance
and she dreams only of you

once inside a woman's heart

the touch sadness from her hand
heartaches wrapped in silence
only women bleed

Everything reminds me of that short
summer.  The clouds form in ancient swirls of fine candy.  Stick candy.
The Wisconsin breath on my
neglected face still summons the
memory.

Proust has already penned his memoir.

I have as yet been unmined.
You remain like an effigy
on the razor edge of sanity.

I feel the hot hand of our past
rub along the night we
loved and smoked and
loved some more.

The days we were loosed on
the city we held the yellow
breath of anticipation.  

We walked

into night when the dark
fallen Angel laid her hand
on times cruel cudgel
and struck us apart.

The music I hear is the
remaining notes of a still dark
lift of dance.

The touch of you is a reply
in only every breeze.

Caroline Shank