The poet Lew Welch vanished on May 23rd, 1971, at age 44.

He lived in the woods with poet Gary Snyder, and one evening casually walked off into the darkness of the Sierra Nevada foothills with his rifle.

He left a su*cide note, but his body was not found—no trace. His work, however, remains.

I love this tiny poem in particular for the lush sound, much like the image he describes. Sense and sound merge to make meaning in just a handful of words, and the image—beautifully rendered—echoes in the mind.