Before the Moon Rose

In the late September light crows were bold, crisp
outlines sketched on power lines, above roofs.

Afternoon flocks of gulls formed and reformed over
the harbour; fraying white knots of hunger.

Before the moon rose I moved pale and weightless as
its light; my gravity repealed by joy in your laughter.

Late at night, after leaving, I still heard crows
in the distance—as wide awake, boisterous as me.

I slept through the morning, woke to crows
rasping across the sky, still defying gravity.

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, Charlottetown, Crows, Ghazal, Gulls, Harbour, John MacKenzie, Language, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, The Moon, The Sea and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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