Perennially Close to the Ground

In the harbour, green water overgrows the last
ice floes; derelict, adrift in changeable winds.

Perennially close to the ground, the crocus
still stirs to the touch of the spring wind.

Even downtown, among church bells and sirens,
the raven’s call carries far on May mornings.

The lengthening evenings grow warmer while
in the night sky stars grow colder, farther apart.

The magnolias have not yet blossomed. I wait
for them and for you in this stiffening breeze.

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 Uncategorized. 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