In Thin White Birches

In thin white birches
and spindly black spruce along
the green riverbank
crows take coarse counsel about
gulls vagrant on the water

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, Crows, Gulls, Hillsborough River, John MacKenzie, Micropoetry, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Summer, Tanka and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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