When the Harbour Thaws


When the harbour thaws, I know that soon
I’ll leave my windows open, listen
All night long to the slow-falling rain
And to small birds moving on grapevines
Greening the telephone pole and wires.

Before the heat of summer demands
A window fan, the late May breeze will
Find me naked on the sheets; bring me
A memory of your hands and mouth
Moving in the night over my skin.

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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