Gary Snyder Pastiché

Autumn dew drizzles

drip down thick roots that

support and cradle–

a pond hidden

by a pair of ancient elms

beneath the cloudy whites

of the dawn.

Beneath its surface;

a school of tadpoles

aimless crawdads

algae twisting out from

layers of decomposing

dead leaves.

Its surface;

concave pressured by 

air spiraling down between

the wise weathered trunks–

hums a silent song to its sober stillness. 

The elms think

so beyond the pond’s reach–

reflecting back on them

through its surface;

two friends

reaching for the sun

through the clouds.

––Spring, 2018