Poems by Gary Lark
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A Moment of Stillness
by Gary Lark
From Canary Fall 2021
Gary grew up on the Umpqua River and considers it his primary mentor and metaphor. He currently lives near the Rogue River in Oregon.
In the basin of McCoy Canyon,
willow, aspen and sage,
the creek running cool
under October sun,
a dark hued rainbow
startles and runs back
under rock shadows.
If I'm careful
I can slip my hand
into the shadow
under the fish
and slowly raise it
until I can feel
the fish finning
my palm.
© Gary Lark
At Baker's Farm
by Gary Lark
From Canary Summer 2021
A neighbor leans on a shovel,
his house already gone.
Wisps of flame burst above the fire
in the heat-gases and magic
of intense combustion.
The night is wide with no horizon.
We're pulled back to the line
and hope to hold it.
Whims of wind call the shots,
luck as important as a tilled fire line.
Work boots on blackened soil,
a scuffle of voices by the barn,
we held it, this time,
and the fire plows east.
Three sides are good
but there is hell coming on the fourth.
If it jumps the road
it will go all the way to the river.
© Gary Lark
Crucible
by Gary Lark
From Canary Spring 2019
It is that place where we change,
ice to water, wood to flame.
It is swimming into the darkness
and meeting the salamander rising.
It is an open mouth singing.
© Gary Lark
Daybreak, Eagle Rock
by Gary Lark
From Canary Summer 2018
Morning arrives
with a cool whisper.
River slides from mountain belly
lucent and green.
I flip a fly into the current,
strip out line that curls
between rush water
and boiling eddy.
A steelhead rises in the dream
we share, rumors my shadow
and fins to the chert bed,
sun rising for us all.
The scent of river mixes
with fir, pine and moss
as I set off down the trail.
The creee of osprey turns above.
© Gary Lark
First Cast
by Gary Lark
From Canary Summer 2018
The lake, a glittering sky.
Fish dimple the clouds.
Reeds brush a mountain’s cheek.
Morning canoe angles me through trees.
I ready my line and cast
in the province of dragonflies.
© Gary Lark