I’m wrapped in a netherworld
between fear and urgent turmoil
a shady region of late twilight
on the edge of dreadful night
what to do with the light.

Like the nightingale whose song
brings pausing, sadness, and hope,
blinking in a landscape of plains and *****
sadness of a creative life’s ending
a blending of sand and the hand of God.

My gut clinched in a tempest
rowing unknowing for shining sky.

It's a bad **** day here in
Texas.
The winds are hot and it's
starting to rain.  

I cant find my coat.  It got
lost at your funeral.  Now
my dry cheeks are wet
and i cant see where to go
The cracks in my face
are artificial.

The frogs are jumping after
phantom bugs, drugged
on the arid silence

I dont know how to do this.
Alone is an art form. No one
said it was Easy.  Willie's song
playing in my mind like a
jumping blue frog in the desert
that has come inside

I crossed the line too late.
All of your self is in the
pillow i no longer use.

I think i will read through
the afternoon. I can always
Cry in bed.

Tomorrow is another anniversary.

Caroline Shank
1.9.2022

I didn't shed a tear until
yesterday.  Your memory
pulled me back
years of
the flood of
the days and nights,
the children, rogue
warriors in our battles
their  children confused
by the confessions,
the chest pounds
of sorrow.

Where you remain
under the guise
of husband.


Caroline Shank
July 10, 2022

I try for a gentle sound, to
say your name in quiet tones,
so like a bird having given
birth in a nest might not cry,
but would settle down to an
afternoon of birdsong, her
charge warm and waiting
for the yolk of future singing
be without requests having
no knowledge of choices.

Caroline Shank
June 16, 2022