When I write about you, and I will,
I will have had a bath, and a

drink.i will have soaked in warm
tub water. Scented.  My best

musk and a sigh for a cigarette
that years ago would have signaled
the best

experience i would have known.

When I form the words and images
Which now I press to my Self

Folded forever, used only once,

a delicate whisper

a Gloria

Sung for me through

you

With wine I now know will
Must my

Forever.

Yours


Caroline
August 25,2025

I began like this.

I hope your day was kind to you
and ends in prayer.

My day refuses.

Not a syllable or mark
from this
day forward,

As long as I may

Live

Without the breath of

You.


Caroline Shank
March 3, 2025

Ask me not whenceforth
from which place or time I come
from, dear lufu of mine  
Beewolf and seizer of hearts
come-hither at me door Sire

Query onely beau
and without askance kiss me
Like a flowery rose dear
sitting on thy breast sweet love
scented sweetly at your side

Seek me as the root
of all that passions thy soul
Gentle as the winds
that blow gently close to thine
tousled as my wild, wild hair.

You took away my wealth
I gave you my all

My house,  my clothes
I didn't stall

You beat me , kicked me
Bad names you called

I just bowed my head
and no replied to all

You imprisoned me chained me
I made it my home

You took away my food and water
I fasted to bone

Every lash of pain inflicted
I turned it into another verse of song

The water is the symbol
of the world's evil sea

We are submerged in helplessness but emerge innocent and free

If the harsh words you spoke

could ever rebound,  

you would have known

how painful they are.

the night whispers the black water fall of ashes
that bloom into the sparrows of sorrow...


the sorrow sparrows are back again
sitting in the tangled woods of twisted trees.

their voices bouncing off love's walls.

the sorrow sparrows are leaning into me.
my sad eyes, dream of you brother.

I lean into the soft lit room
searching for love's quiet hours,
and sunlight flickering through willow trees.

"don't cry, darlin," my wife whispers.

…and even with a whisper,
revive my depths,
turn me like a veil,
face down
in the
grass
falling asleep,
with
the
feet in the sky to be born -- maybe,
maybe
something will stick to my soles,
growing arms from the rain,
flying among the clouds

but what are the depths?
other than the
unheard
pulse,
the
untouched
breath,
palms-braided-in-roots,
­the flower withered
because of a kiss,
the
leaves
blown by the wind,
dew fallen on
crosses,

but what are the depths?
than frankincense, - the place where
rivers never dry,
the place where  rivers run away from us towards
forghetfulness
of oblivion…

towards
forghetfulness
of oblivion…
stir up my depths,
…and even with a whisper,
stir up my depths,
turn my
face down to earth,
hopefully
i can lose my steps in the sky-- maybe,
maybe
            something will stick to my soles,

in the sky maybe,
                                   maybe
something will stick to my soles