Trout Stream

Trout Stream

Jack had all the equipment---

the poles, flies, the cabin reserved in

New Mexico.

Damn if he wouldn't whip his wrist,

flip the line out and lay it

on the

live surface and pull one up

from under

and slap it down,

breathing on the rocks.

I didn't catch a thing

till further up the stream

past all the good holes

in a crevice

between bluffs, a sun-

warm rock

spread out, and drying

after the icy pool,

naked in the alpine air

every aspen shook

to the ritual twitch of my rod.

I conjured the maiden-fish,

touching the tender scars left by her

hook.