I Know Less of Iowa

What little I know dwindles each day.
Perhaps this is why I embrace doubt
And wish to revisit every magnolia,
Linden, and wild rose I’ve ever known,
Every slow stream teadark with tannins
Where current and stones laugh in the shallows.

I know less of Iowa perhaps
Than I know of anything on this earth.
I have never strolled beside its creeks
Listening to how your laughter learned sound.

Time gets everything backwards, doesn’t it?
You are there under earth with a headstone
Unbroken by wind, rain, and tectonics
Into pebbles worn smoother every day.

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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