Ken Wagner

02-21-09

Windy waves
of powdered snow
Your entrance

Manicured
Can’t touch her ’til the tips
are dry

My poodle
pushes on, smelling life
in frozen ground

Shoveling dry snow
in the wind – The gulls
circle and call

Each of us
someday
Sirens’ call

Each of us
someday
Siren’s call

These old lungs
Plastic flapping on
wooded branches

Le mot juste
Raindrops on a
dry field

I am
A flat field, receiving
raindrops

Snow melts
on a flat field – What happened
to us?

A gull soars
then disappears
Grey clouds

Dead birds
Cheap
Peruvian sweater