Ken Wagner

12-24-08

White birches
in winter dusk
Grandfather’s ghost

Wood planks
peel paint, then drop
The tall grass

Curved hills
covered in clouds
The small of her back

Curved road
through the hills
The small of her back

Frozen sliver
of moon
My breath

Two dogs
Nosing the same
smelly spot

Electric blue
over the treetops
Morning traffic

Night desert
sky stretches far
Between us

Never learned guitar
Fingers numb
from freezing rain

Born to sail
I squint into
cold, misty rain

A plane
Kennel dogs bark
and jump