Watching the Curtains in the Morning

Thin gauze curtains move in the window. Mist
on the harbour stirred by a heron’s wings.

The wind in the night splashed the sea
on the rocks. The taste of salt on your spine.

Purple asters dot the end of September.
Light bruises on my neck from your teeth.

There’s hours and days between seeing you.
There’s a patch of sky seems empty of stars.

I will walk by the harbour tonight, listen to
the sound of waves on stone, turn my face
to the water and taste you on the 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, Asters, Astronomy, Autumn, Blue Heron, Charlottetown, Chinese poetry, Cosmology, Ghazal, Harbour, John MacKenzie, Language, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, The Sea, The Wind and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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