Thomas Buckley

fissures in the fabric of my words
with every silken thread silently sewn

a blanket patched together
...

flowers in bloom
unfolding petals silently, with winter’s glacial
touch far from stems, broken;
...

Shadows expand beneath a dimming horizon,
pink and purple and orange and golden beams hang upon the wall,
as if cast by a flashlight delivering illumination through a prism,
each color traveling a separate road,
...

From the shoreline i see a man,
his head barely breaking the choppy surface
and panic colors his pallid face and his misty, hazel eyes
...

The walls are white
to the side of me and behind me
and painted copper at the front
behind the teacher's back.
...

aware of your affection
as much, at your discretion
your touch, against my lips
as such, you write the script
...

destitute townships wave a flag
of white, surrendering to sorrow
as through the mud, they drag
their feet to a new tomorrow
...

recommending my heart to read kama
sutra, learning love quickly before
the final test
...

bows diving deep breaking the current
a trio- each in the direction
of the new setting sun which hung
low in the sky over the mountains west
...