November Rain

I can’t quite remember the rhythms
Our pulses beat together at night.

All I hear now is November rain,
Thready and erratic in the eaves.

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 Poetry, Uncategorized and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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