My Small Gasps

I don’t know what to tell you, Earth.
The grass grew all day.
The trees ached into the sky.
Occasionally a little rain would fall.

This seemed different from yesterday
Only in the times we woke and slept.
Did something change in the content of birdsong
Or in my small gasps at your touch?

The sun shines when it does. But these days,
The ice at the poles melts and flows.
And so the ocean currents grow cooler,
For now; and so coasts that once waited,
Languid, for their warm touch begin to turn
Away now, bright and cold with salt.

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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