Kathryn Winograd Contact

 







Blessings at Nipple Mountain

I sit among ghosts, among the slender
arms of aspen, newly come to the burned
 
and vanished.  A half-life of gold glitters in the air,
in the deep granite crevices beneath me.
 
Winged grasshoppers chafe the air.
I am shadow within the rain shadow.

I rub the white skins of trees, the blackened
eyes of lost branches, the scars of antlers

rubbed to seasonal bone. My dog sleeps
below me in the russet meadow. Its slight dreams

toll the fragile bells of flowers bending. Now the wind
that cannot touch me through this stone

stirs the leaves, small rains sounding here and
                                                    
                                                        here.