Tomorrow creeps it's been
said.
I have nothing to offer as balm.

The hours tritely signal the new
est

hollow minutes.  The breeze
through my shabby thoughts
finds no place
to rest

Will there be a

another song?

Someone will sing it

so wrongly yet familiarly
time you carved

into me?⁰

Just past noon on a summer day
today  is fighting to let me go

I am trapped in a

vortex from
which I will never be let go.

I beg to be forgotten
by

you

the prying and the Poetry
I writ

before pity turned our

journey to

Salt..


Caroline Shank
July 1, 2025