taking the turn-off , an hour
up-canyon, from the main trail.
Willows and an old, broken alder stand
along the far side of the pool,
above the crossing. Trout lie
out near the middle, now holding beside
the main current, now drifting backward
a foot or so, and, slow-fi nned, easing
forward again, looking faint
above their shadows; the pool,
with the air quiet, all sleek,
till a dragonfl y scrapes it,
or a fi sh takes a fl y wrinkling it.
On the near bank huge boulders
obstruct your way upstream.
There, just this morning, lay
the Alpo can, on its side, new,
empty, clean, on the clean sand
under a shady overhang
of sandstone. What a brisk blare
the orange and blue of the label;
how tight and sure, the fi t of the label.