we worship the same open sky
some of us asking why
some think of how
some wonder who
but me
my thoughts are clouded by you

some of us manage
to be vulnerable as naked
in private

some need holding up
in sight from my window

dreams of an obsession
restless
shifting underground
I could be your island
love me with your
wrists unbound

rising like a siren
conjuring the jealous sea
dripping lust and violence
beckoned in a reverie
whispered call
to pauper or crown
love me
and I'll watch you drown

bathed in your reflection
conquered in your finest hour
dream of sweet perfection
love me
breathless
wrists unbound

up on Gray hill
an old ash tree grows
just who planted it?
nobody knows

some eat the fruit
some kick the leaves
some sit quietly
minding the breeze

up on Gray Hill
where an old ash tree grows
come rain in summer
or springtime snow

where fairies are crowned
and eagles have fallen
where children run
until Mother comes calling

where lovers have carved their names in the bark
as starlight kept the night from its dark
up on Gray Hill
the old ash tree grows

just who planted it?
well
nobody knows

Sounds In Silence

Tomorrow comes like a slap
on my cheek.  It waits in the
drains of today like a cat, reaches
for my footstep. Trips me up.

Yesterday slithered into the
cesspool of memory.  I am
a flag in your stand of
cardboard in the window
in Chicago, at the corner
of Rush and State.

Today I set my feet to
find the last place where
the countless clocks struck.

There is no sound in the
Universe today.  All the bells
are open sockets without time.
I am looking for the trigger.

The last walnut cracked under
your weight without warning
and I stand here again

alone.

Caroline Shank
08.27.2023