Ken Krogue

All my windows are double-pained

with dead space as a buffer.

The rolling beads from the spring storm

don’t touch the glass I’m looking through.

-

On a Saturday, in my high-back chair,

with the answering machine left on,

I observe some limbs, urged on by a silent breeze,

brush some drops away

and I notice the tree for the first time.

-

Ken Krogue