I spoke to my uncle Phil who lives in Gloucester today. I was telling him and then reading to him a Gary Snyder poem from the October New Yorker and then I copied it into a letter to him. All in the same day. Phil encouraged me to write a poem or two. So I wrote one just for fun, unedited straight from the hip, title and all. Probably a hint of inspiration from Gary Snyder.
It Went On
I crossed another stream of lights
passing cars
The weather so no plan at all
it worked for me
the party, the love, the nourish gift
the confusion
how do we be defined
no I want my only perfection
It is pain, it is healing
water is the image
of change
