Everyday Math

The ring-billed gulls descending over the low tide slant of shingle toward dark mudflats
are a litter of dirty-white scrap paper scrawled with derivatives measuring the changes of
functions in differential equations.

Across the harbour the calculus continues; considers a haze over the low hills the West
River leaks through and the trout twisting under its slow-motion surface, the frills and
undulations of their gills.

It lazes in the syntax that composes the sequencing of legs in the late-night fox’s trot
through backyards and cemeteries and translates the scents lingering under sheds, on tree bark and gravestones.

Listen in the night and you’ll hear it in the whistle of breath through nostrils, in the wheeze
of the lungs’ bellows when the candle of romance has burnt down to its base of skin on skin.
A slow friction ignites everything.

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, Astrophysics, Biology, Cemetery, Charlottetown, Chemistry, Consciousness, Creativity, Death, Epistemology, Evolution, Gulls, Harbour, John MacKenzie, Language, Mathematics, Memory, Neuroscience, New poems, Physics, Poem tweets, Poetry, Prose poem, Science, The Brain, Time, West River and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Mumble back at me

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

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com 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 )

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s