Old Men In Love

Old men in love, awakening stiff
In their joints and contemplating the hard
Task of getting up into the day,
Dream of past mornings. They remember cocked
Hips and bent knees, and the pressing
Engagements that rose reliably as green
Shoots of crocuses and tulips
In dense and urgent clusters out of spring.

But old men in love let go their pricks
Of memory and turn to watch with crooked smiles
What they’ve rarely considered
Over lifetimes—their slow-swirling currents of blood
Thickening, as the waters where river
And harbour meet grow tangled and slow with silt.

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, Consciousness, Harbour, Hillsborough River, John MacKenzie, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Social Commentary, Sonnet, Spring, Summer, Tide, Time and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Old Men In Love

  1. Michelle79 says:

    Well, this is smart and playful. The line breaks are perfect.


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