the pointless wars of the heart

    Siwashing It Out Once in Suislaw Forest 

I slept under      rhododendron 

All night      blossoms fell 

Shivering on a sheet of cardboard 

Feet stuck      in my pack 

Hands deep      in my pockets 

Barely able      to      sleep. 

I remembered      when we were in school 

Sleeping together      in a big warm bed 

We were      the youngest lovers 

When we broke up      we were still nineteen 

Now our      friends are married 

You teach      school back east 

I dont mind     living this way 

Green hills      the long blue beach 

But sometimes      sleeping in the open 

I think back      when I had you. 

    A Spring Night in Shokoku-ji 

Eight years ago this May 

We walked under cherry blossoms 

At night in an orchard in Oregon. 

All that I wanted then 

Is forgotten now, but you. 

Here in the night 

In a garden of the old capital 

I feel the trembling ghost of Yugao 

I remember your cool body 

Naked under a summer cotton dress. 

    An Autumn Morning in Shokoku-ji 

 

Last night watching the Pleiades, 

Breath smoking in the moonlight, 

Bitter memory like vomit 

Choked my throat. 

I unrolled a sleeping bag 

On mats on the porch 

Under thick autumn stars. 

In dream you appeared 

(Three times in nine years) 

Wild, cold, and accusing. 

I woke shamed and angry: 

The pointless wars of the heart. 

Almost dawn. Venus and Jupiter. 

The first time I have
Ever seen them close. 

 

    December at Yase 

 

You said, that October, 

In the tall dry grass by the orchard 

When you chose to be free, 

"Again someday, maybe ten years." 

 

After college I saw you 

One time. You were strange. 

And I was obsessed with a plan. 

 

Now ten years and more have 

 Gone by: I've always known 

     where you were— 

 I might have gone to you 

Hoping to win your love back. 

You still are single. 

 

I didn't. 

I thought I must make it alone. I 

Have done that. 

 

Only in dream, like this dawn, 

Does the grave, awed intensity 

Of our young love 

Return to my mind, to my flesh. 

 

We had what the others 

All crave and seek for; 

We left it behind at nineteen. 

 I feel ancient, as though I had 

 Lived many lives. 

And may never now know 

If I am a fool 

Or have done what my 

         karma demands.

   

[Gary Snyder {1930- } 'Four Poems for Robin', from The Back Country]