Give me a place to put myself
I await on a storefront shelf
Give me a sole to lace with mine
The one for whom my heart doth pine

I miss the face that I know not
I'm blue like a forget-me-not
Just thinking about you
Wondering what you do

I love your eyes
Your hand in mine
I hate our goodbyes
And waiting for signs

You are a vine, and I am your rose
Loving you wholely, right down to my toes

I don't know who you are
But you cannot be far
I will know you someday
At least, that's what I pray

The movements
and tides of my visceral
life endure as I am forced
forward.  

Prone to the changes
of daylight's only task,
I open to the sun as a turtle
opens to the tidepool.

The future is a wash as
it morphs from my bellied
stature. The past is
a life splayed by the nights
of your flesh. I roll with the
memory of
your voice.  

I linger on your
shore.


Caroline Shank

My poems fall flat
like a slap on a
warm winter night.

I'm an old woman
in a dry season.
I tally the years on
prayer beads.  The
clack doesn't help.

I call out "Dr. Dr. Take
my breath away. It's
all I have left to pay
the toll."

I try and try to call
you but my hands
fail.  There is
nothing left of
me.  I lay my
crackled hands
on a picture
you might

remember.


Caroline Shank

open seed;
her busted fetus of death's frail womb
and moisture drops soil's dehydrated tongue,
a quiet resignation, understanding,

is some triumph on the other side
where the picket fence, traitor,
glances in whatever direction he
hears noise.

&

we exchange our horoscopes
with our eyebrows,
and the mini universes beneath them,
circular and budding
as medicines and poisons.

&&

you are not shimmied away
by the sand's magnetic force
nor stand with planted soles
on stone foundation.

you are lured
by wind's woe of distance.

Mayflies
by Michael R. Burch

These standing stones have stood the test of time
but who are you
                             and what are you
                                                             and why?
As brief as mist, as transient, as pale ...
Inconsequential mayfly!

Perhaps the thought of love inspired hope?
Do midges love? Do stars bend down to see?
Do gods commend the kindnesses of ants
to aphids? Does one eel impress the sea?

Are mayflies missed by mountains? Do the stars
regret the glowworm’s stellar mimicry
the day it dies? Does not the world go on
as if it’s no great matter, not to be?

Life, to be sure, is nothing much to lose.
And yet somehow you’re everything to me.

Originally published by Clementine Unbound. Keywords/Tags: mayfly, mayflies, time, mist, transient, transience, pale, inconsequential, stars, sea, everything, A. E. Housman quote

gaze at me and slight the moon
and all the stars in her company
then to your melody shall I attune
my love for you a symphony

come with me on silvered way
weave moonflowers in your hair
then to the bower we will stray
and long I’ll kiss you there

sit with me at basin’s bound
fount in your light agleam
with falling stars you are crowned
and in beauty reign supreme

give your love to me alone
though all may seek your favor
when they depart false lovers flown
Cupid’s grove we then will savor

cast your cares in fire’s heart
and dance with me till dawn
I’ll be your artist and you my art
our love goes ever on

Oh, what I miss most
is the closeness and
touch of a human hand.
A simple thing, one we
normally take for granted,
like my grandchildren's arms
around my neck. Handshakes
or hugs in greetings or farewells
with friends, all taken for granted
for years, lost to us for now,
but will eventually return.