If Only I Had
Thomas J. Roach
What subtle thought might I have
Coiled inside this spool of vowels?
As I pause, what fresh word might
Have been sped to what strong line?
Thomas J. Roach
I have seen where pointed graphite
In its wooden scarf spun like
A mad skater between the blue
And red lines of hockey rink ice.
Thomas J. Roach
Here, under the wet glaze of things
Thought out, the patterns and textures
Call me on, while somewhere wit
Waits to scratch a course in flight.
Thomas J. Roach