The poetry of Jack C. Buck

into:

shadows come into themselves, where at night

we’re the light gathering winter bodies

 

around a small wood table

we are everything nearby wanting to lean in close,

entirely giving our space to the distance

in comparison and land

 

the town closes in, collecting all that space

outside the white fields expand out

 

all snow and wind

eight years of distance

 

it’s impossible to see anything else as we draw into one another

 

 

 

was:

Those summer evenings to live for

where fate made a point are gone

as the years

slip into another oncoming year.

All that time

spent together when we were young has passed too.

We are much older. Our once love

is replaced by others

who think they know what to do with it.

We are defined by nothing

but the ever faint memory

till someday it is never known by anyone left.

Running its course of time. Love was.

Where we were here before.


Jack C. Buck lives and teaches in Denver, Colorado. He thanks you for reading his work. You can contact him on Twitter @Jack_C_Buck

One comment

  1. I like the work but the amount of white space between the line breaks is very distracting and hinders understanding. Still, nice work.

    Like

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