Four Poems for Robin

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Siwashing it out once in Siuslaw 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