The ghost of my good dog, Alice,

sits at the foot of my ladder,

looking up, now and then touching

the bottom rung with her paw.

Even a spirit dog can’t climb

an extension ladder, and so,

with my scraper, bucket, and brush,

I am up here alone, hanging on

with one hand in the autumn wind,

high over the earth that Alice

knew so well, every last inch,

and there she sits, whimpering

in just the way the chilly wind

whines under the tin of the roof—

sweet Alice, dear Alice, good Alice,

waiting for me to come down.

—“Painting the Barn,” from Splitting an Order by Ted Kooser