Kyoto: March
by: Gary Snyder
A few light flakes of snow
Fall in the feeble sun;
Birds sing in the cold,
A warbler by the wall. The plum
Buds tight and chill soon bloom.
The moon begins first
Fourth, a faint slice west
At nightfall. Jupiter half-way
High at the end of night-
Meditation. The dove cry
Twangs like a bow.
At dawn Mt. Hiei dusted white
On top; in the clear air
Folds of all the gullied green
Hills around the town are sharp,
Breath stings. Beneath the roofs
Of frosty houses
Lovers part, from tangle warm
Of gentle bodies under quilt
And crack the icy water to the face
And wake and feed the children
And grandchildren that they love.
_________________________
It's a cold night in the Upper Peninsula. I'm sure there's going to be a fine layer of frost on the windows of my car tomorrow, just like there was this morning.
I'm glad that the week is over. It has been long and tiring. I haven't gotten a whole lot done except work and teaching. Not a whole lot of poetry going on in my life these last five or so days. Hoping to rectify that situation tomorrow. Work on an essay that I started a little while ago.
Right now, however, it's all about the stars and moon and cold.
Saint Marty is ready to let night take over.
