Remembering Gary Snyder


I came in early

From working

On a day

I’d long planned

To cut back

Over grown plants

In the garden

But then the rains came

A grey mist at first

Blowing steadily

From the west ridge

Over the lee

Of the Oak woods

I sat in the kitchen

The back door

Had been open

Most of the day

I watched rain falling

And recalled

For some reason

The first time

I’d read through

Regarding Wave.

Gusting winds

Of a summer gale

Blowing in off

The Irish Sea

Sweeps through

The Birch

At the top of the garden

Littering the soil

With its leaves

I live in a small house

That in bad weather

Takes on the feel

Of a small ship


By high seas

And swept

By those Westerlies.


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