Answers.

Gruner, The Glade, 1919

Hammering a dent out of a bucket
          a woodpecker
                    answers from the woods

In a swarm of yellowjackets
a squirrel drinks water
feet in the cool clay, head way down

               Nap on a granite slab
half in shade, you can never hear enough
          sound of           wind in the pines

Catching grasshoppers for bait
attaching them live to the hook
             —I get used to it

     a certain poet, needling
Allen Ginsberg by the campfire
“How come they all love you?”

                    Clumsy at first
my legs, feet, and eye      learn again to leap
        skip through the jumbled rocks

Tired, quit climbing at a small pond
       made camp, slept on a slab
               til the moon rose

          Warm nights,
 the lee of twisty pines—
high jets crossing the stars

Gary Snyder