A Light Wind Whispering

The August marshes matted by blue herons
Passing from slow channel to slow channel
In daily pursuit of the tides’ swell and decline
Are scrawled between fields and the sea
Cattails are thin pencil strokes slanting now
In a light wind whispering out of the west

All day I thought of nothing but you
The sudden rain streaming from the leaves
The way it did from your hair one day
You bent your head forward into it
From the veranda towards the linden trees
The wet bark of their limbs dark as your hair

The sweet scorched smell of purple clover
Under the sun drifting from the fields
Before the rain began was the scent of us
On the tangled sheets after midnight
In the hours before we rose with the crows
And you wandered home, hair wild as the grass

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, Art is lies, Blue Heron, Cattails, Crows, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, Lindens, Marsh, Memory, Poem tweets, Poetry, The Marsh, The Rain, The Sea, The Wind, Tide, Time. Bookmark the permalink.

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