When Frost Settles

I was born in the autumn
And, though I hold no wishes
Nor illusions of rebirth,
I do like to wake early

On these days when frost settles
Heavy and white on the grass
In the morning with the geese
Loud in their flight overhead.

I sip slowly at coffee.
I remember the dark taste
Of tobacco on my tongue,
And etching your name into
Frost layered on glass. Tonight,
Will I close all the windows?

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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