Invariably,
You prefer to come
To me in the dark.
"You're more my temperature then,"
You once said.
I'm not much of a thermometer,
But I am the eurythmy
To each syllable you give
In such settled shadow.
A play of murmurs and fingertips,
You once named this.
Always I see a wreath in your hair,
In colors of Persia,
Textures of night,
And the soft blended lines
Of you I know
Infallibly.

.

I cannot rival your blue eyes
Or the whirling
winds of your infinite skies.  

Windworn leaves tumble at
your step.  Winter turns to
summer where you are.

Walk to me slowly that I may
savor the trail you leave on
your way to my page.

I write you into time.  I hear
the bells ripple.
I have seen you travel in dreams.  

You leave me always wanting
you more than there is air above
me or ground below.

Stay where I am for now.
Use me with love.
Your song.

Caroline Shank
11.19.1 9

Some people eat dreams

for
breakfast

and
lunch

and
dinner

and it's not even because
they can't afford food

but that handle was made for his hand
hand - handle
handle - hand

the fingers would close
around it to never let go
It had to have flesh around it
at all times
But the blade...
the blade was still naked. He couldn't let
the blade naked
It wasn't fair

"So that's why you stabbed your
mommy then?" the psychiatrist asked him.

"Yes," he said.

"The knife is more important
to you than mommy?"

"The knife listens. Mommy doesn't."

I've glommed on
to the skin's erie plahn
grow bones and brains
to carry me around and
rub me up aghainst
everiedamnthingahh