I scan the tree line,
look at maples, evergreens,

whatever finds its way to the right of
way:  A rabbit and a dishwasher.

Beyond the right of way, I walk to
a meadow.  A girl, a boy, and a dog

are running in the flowering meadow.
I follow the children to the river, balance

on slathered rocks.  Alone, I
follow the river for hours—

past each waterfall, each tributary,
past the place where we used to float

our inner tubes around a bend.  I go on
to where the river enters the thicket.

Dead fish rot there.  Pepsi and beer cans
rust among the weeds on the shore.