• POETRY •
Odes to Cold Mountain
“The path to Han-shan’s place is laughable,
A path, but no sign of cart or horse.
And now I’ve lost the shortcut home,
Body asking shadow, how do you keep up?”
– Snyder, from Cold Mountain Poems
Lowlands here in midwest sopping green.
September rain a new gray breath every hour.
By seven we walk out to the hydrant,
itself red as any spring cardinal, a spark,
erect, unscathed by any stirrings underground.
Two little curly terriers scoot by on leashes.
Master has his headphones securely attached.
His music bright sea waves lapping at dunes.