South Wind on a February Morning

As an idle child
wanders the house rattling
fingernails on teeth,
so the south wind fitfully
taps rain against the windows

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, John MacKenzie, Micropoetry, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Tanka, The Rain, The Wind, Winter and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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