When I think of you,
I hear a marimba in my head.
I'm lost like a stray cat.
Baby, I swear I'll hop a train
and head west, to roll away
from the memory of you.
This mad hatter moon lights
my way, and I'm done
holding on.  I'm getting a
bottle of whiskey, and drinking
it until you become a
blurry memory.
Then I'm jumping that train.

smoke and
flames

opening
pockets
in the
earth

that never
end

anything to
distract you

from
seeing
me

from
reaching
inside me

pulling
out
my
soul

reading
my
diary

It's all behind me now.  The
days of wine and roses, and you.
I was young in the tender
of my years.  

You were curled and red, the
tight nights of summer dimmed
my eyes.  The breezes
of June were wrapped embraces.

In these, my last years here, I dwell
on summer.  No matter the cold of
Wisconsin, it's the brilliance of
then that I rub on my face like
fine oil.  I remember the incense.
The musk of your scent
lingers.

We were a tune that played for
the span of one summer.  It
is as strong in my memory as ever
were your hands on my face.  

Once when I loved you,
almost fifty summers ago, I
promised I wouldn't hurt you.
But you left me to
broken poems.

I am wooden in my age
and I dance with hard
shoes.  The days are
long and the nights
no longer sing.

Caroline Shank

its like i'm in this tiny aircraft
climbing steep and fast
when we hit rough air
i lose my grip
f
r
e
e
-
f
a
l
l
i
n
g

i
n
t
o
a deep
and dark
bog of depression
and it always alarms me
how i'm always so surprised
because it always goes this way
i trudge thru the swamp of sadness
just like atreyu did - a smile on my face
my savior up ahead and behind her
is this tiny aircraft-its always there
and i always get in gratefully
the mire quickly shrinks
and i do it all again