Blood and Flesh and Gentleness

I went into the woods alone.
I listened to the crows.
They told me love was never stone,
That blood and flesh and gentleness
Were all to be condoned.

The moon swung her heavy head
Around in a woozy nod;
“They’re right they’re right they’re right,” she said.
“I’ve heard stars whispering of this
From deep, darkly-feathered beds.”

The sea was a silence then.
It swayed upon the world
And disassembled gods again,
Put their long-corroded parts away
Packed safely with grains of sand.

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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