Walking By the Harbour In January

Snow squalls at low tide hid the bumps
and cracks of ice over the mudflats
as time and wishful memory hide
cracks and flaws in us

On the wind today I thought I heard
your voice from the white winter sky
but it was a gull circling unseen
over the harbour

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, Charlottetown, Gulls, Harbour, John MacKenzie, Memory, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, The Sea, The Sky, The Wind, Time, Winter and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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