Last Hole

by Scott Carles

Was this the hole,

where limestone walls shoulder the margin

between earth and sky?

He bends into the current,

casts about forgotten water thickened by rains.

Forgotten waters, patterns, faces—

even the name of this disease.

His fly skitters across the surface,

vees the liquid alluvium,

scatters shadows below birches.

He sets a foot where a memory

was—it slips.

A speckled back breaks the barrier.

Liver-spotted fingers

lift bamboo and line,

flick a loop upstream

settling the fly two feet beyond the rise

on the river’s wrinkles.

Perched upright it rides down,

smooth.

The water’s skin dimples,

pulls the fly to a place

of fading shadows.

He teeters. Stares at the line

to etch an epitaph

into his memory.

Brings the shadow to hand.

He holds it at arm’s

length. Forgets. Slides

beneath the boundary.

Scott Carles is married and has two children. He teaches English to
sixth grade students at a public school in northern Utah where he lives.
He wanders the northern Rocky Mountains and Great Basin in search of
native cutthroat trout. His wanderings are found on his blog, Cutthroat
Stalker http://scarles.org/blog.