long ago Gary Snyder
The Earth's Wild Places
Your eyes, your mouth and hands,
the public highways.
Hands, like truck stops,
semis rumbling in the corners.
Eyes like the bank clerk's window
I love all the parts of your body
friends hug your suburbs
farmlands are given a nod
but I know the path
to your wilderness.
It's not that I like it best,
but we're almost always
and it's scary but also calm.
"This poem was lost for some years and then turned up again.
I don't remember any publishing history for it other than as a
fugitive broadside maybe in the seventies." GS
The Present Moment
psst — who in the world set "Gary Snyder" on the cover off-center?!