Her offer of herbs
would soon wilt in the sun.

A few soiled notes
if she may gather at the end
can make her come back
every morn
with the garden fetch.

Sixteen rupees,
she raises her doe eyes,
our palms blush in the exchange.

She smiles, you are a rupee short.

Love is never short of script.

I am reminded of Florida and the
sunshine. The heat of memory.
I loved the years spent with you.

The slant of time, the curls of
daylight. Walks on the sands.
You took my forever talking
with smiles.  I remember

the last days there, combing
for memories. Packing the
pictures to satisfy the cold

north screaming winters.

You were wrong to leave me
halting, grimacing, the nurses
alone your last

Lovers.

Caroline Shank
1.1.24

the river overflows down to the sea,      
a wintry song to tame the reveled night,
and born of love the stars blaze ever bright,
with soft-ringed beams that sigh like poetry.
dark woven hour, how you inspire me,
the midnight gleams with pools of paean light,
the drowsy moon is shining filmy-white,
the woodlands shrink and dream of sanctuary.
arise on arching wings, oh, song once sung,  
oh, water sprite, oh, lily of the vale,
you pine for love, the forest weaves a spell,
unearthly voice of honey throat and tongue
  i hear you whisper, sing your wild, wild tale,      
  then bid the world goodbye and sweet farewell.