Cable Crossing

by Gary Lark

I stop at the cable crossing hole
when light just touches
the top of the canyon.
I slip down the bank under the trees
to the liquid emerald
and roll cast to the dimples
of rising trout.
They pay little attention
to my muddler or mayfly.
I set the fly rod down.
This deep green world
turns to magic at twilight
and I give in.
The fish jump and roll
as I breathe the living air.
I will be here at seventeen
and seventy, life washing
through me, this small infinity,
the experience of one.