Saturday, March 18, 2017

Gary Snyder (b.1930)

For a Stone Girl at Sanchi
half asleep on the cold grass night rain flicking the maples under a black bowl upside-down on a flat land on a wobbling speck smaller than stars, space, the size of a seed, hollow as bird skulls. light flies across it –never is seen. a big rock weathered funny, old tree trunks turned stone, split rocks and find clams. all that time loving; two flesh persons changing, clung to, doorframes notions, spear-hafts in a rubble of years. touching, this dream pops. it was real: and it lasted forever. Gary Snyder

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