Looking Towards the Gulf at Evening

The wind is from the northeast this early
Evening and not as sharp as it often is,
Having worn out for now its cold
Chisels of water and sand sculpting

All day, as it has every day
For millennia, the North Shore capes
Into sparse studies of ravaged limbs
And torsos envied by Rodin.

I have seen my future there, and yours;
Our backs turned to the workman wind,
Shivers running up from our thin legs
Before we collapse into the gulf

Giving to crabs and quahogs and clams
The scant minerals of our bones.

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, Art is theft, Geology, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, New poems, North Shore, Poem tweets, Poetry, Rodin, Science, Sonnet, The Earth, The Sea, The Wind, Tide, Time. Bookmark the permalink.

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