Your Shadows Moving West

When morning comes, the rising sun
will see your shadows moving west.

One more year, and one more summer
visit gone. Your laughter fading.

All afternoon, herring gulls here
will stain their wingtips in storm clouds.

I’ll remember your faces in
the slant of early evening light.

The terns and blackbacked gulls will wheel
and cry above the turning tide.

Watch the late-rising moon brighten
as it finds you in Montreal.

About John MacKenzie

I'll mumble for ya. Poetry, plus most things quantifiable: science, neuroscience, memory, epistemology, baseball. And so on.
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