I write because some
thing turns me, looks
through me. It's Sunday
for a few more minutes

and I am seeing you as
a mover,
a truther
a slayer of snakes.

Every day there is news
of you.  Whoever you

may be.

Where flowers in my
sorry
Mind

bloom

alone where once there
were plans.  Before,

When I could find you
between in the lines.
I wrote then such good

Poetry.

Caroline Shank
10.5.2025

For you
with love.