For a Stone Girl at Sanchi
half asleep on the cold grass
       night rain flicking the maples
under a black bowl upside-down
on a flat land
       on a wobbling speck
smaller than stars,
                space,
the size of a seed,
       hollow as bird skulls.
light flies across it
              –never is seen.

a big rock weatherd funny,
old tree trunks turnd stone,
       split rocks and find clams.
                all that time
loving;
two flesh persons changing,
       clung to, doorframes
       notions, spear-hafts
in a rubble of years.
                touching,
this dream pops. it was real:
       and it lasted forever.


                         Gary Snyder