Low Tide at Sunset

Low Tide at Sunset

Dead low
tide as the sun
slips down a late May sky.
The wind has died and in early

the old lindens
creak as they strain slow leaves
through bent twigs towards a green young

while out
past the water’s
edge three blue herons stilt,
tilt with ancient hunger in the

About John MacKenzie

I'll mumble for ya. Poetry, plus most things quantifiable: science, neuroscience, memory, epistemology, baseball. And so on.
This entry was posted in Art is lies, Cinquain, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Spring, Summer, The Sea and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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