The Harbour in July

The summer mudflat
squabbles between crows and gulls
never end, but blue
herons keep feeding—they know
nothing is so black or white.

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, Blue Heron, Crows, Gulls, Harbour, John MacKenzie, Micropoetry, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Summer, Tanka, The Sea and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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