Thats the thing about poetry,
you think im talking about a
broken heart,
when really,
Im talking about a broken
world.

Life wears me out with its
twists and turns, and
hairpin curves.
I keep waiting for a
long, peaceful stretch
of highway, bathed in
the rising sun.
A golden wheatfield to
to the left, a moss covered
pond with dragonflies to
the right.
The road turns to gravel,
and climbs rapidly uphill.
There are signs along the
way that promise the world.
The road gradually turns
to dirt, and ultimately
disappears.

If I come to you I will be unriddled,
singing and shot through with
poetry. My gift will be the rings
around my soul, the songbirds
and the winds of Jupiter, warm
touched my arms and the
long wait of my legs.

If you come to me be it on
a Monday when you are
at your best and relaxed.
Bring me the scent of musk,
the water gobleted in crystal
for my waiting lips.

We will clasp the future as if
it was Young.  The breeze

on our faces

blows over

the carved vows

on the birchwood

tree.


Caroline Shank
April 2, 2023

Trees under the sky
The leaves rustle tonight
In anticipation of the breeze
The flowers open and blossom

To the morning light
In your eyes of brown I can see
The distant forests
Dancing with ease

In step with the little leaves (under their feet)

birth and death are the same point on the circle of life, some circles are bigger than others, some are more colorful, some are jagged some smooth, fill the center with the color of love and gratitude