Red Fox (to My Poems)

Vulpes vulpes, with your

little black nose,

your anxious eyes,

darting,

your den, under leaves

once red,

are ochre, burnt umber, and blowing away

in the air

of wet earth and maple smoke exhaled.

My palms,

holding ash

up to my fingertips, cool to the touch,

warm with a flame I cannot fan,

everything dying, like this.

But I’ll find you,

sometime October,

under the chestnut tree

wagging your tail,

Vulpes vulpes,

for me.

© 2016 Jennifer Wagner

It seems I am too busy for poetry right now.  But sometimes, she finds me.

Season of Innocence/sense(s)

Today smells like new lilacs

and the warm redbrick

of the library baking slightly

in the springtime glow.

Today looks like my smiling-eyed son

toting a stack of books,

the pep and hop

of his bright, young step next to mine.

Today sounds like the train,

always going somewhere, like we are,

even when standing still.

Today feels like that moment

I recognize

I’ll have only once

--and tastes

like goodnight

on the lips

of a season

better than summer,

innocent and golden.

© 2016 Jennifer Wagner

image source