Requiem for a Season

This poem waits for October,
for a silent field after battle
where crows have not yet arrived,
but can be seen over distant trees—
their wings a procession of black
pennants streaming in the cold wind.

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, Autumn, Baseball, Crows, John MacKenzie, Micropoetry, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Summer and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Mumble back at me

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s