Lamb of God

Lamb of God


Time twists the days alone.

I reach and find the barre of

our lost gone into ash.


The blue hour is long gone

into my imagination.  I sit

on the window seat we 

shed our secrets on.


I don't look at the type as I

write.  I don't think of you

reading Byron or anyone

any longer sitting while

sunlight drew your face

in the photograph.


What is is not the same

and curl of once it was.

You are vanish and 

shadow in the close


of my yesterday.


Caroline Shank

3.22.2023

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