Vacation in Colorado

The street’s hullabaloo tramps
through the morning with an armful
of tradition faded by motel signs.
He hoisted a backpack and fled
to the mountain. The stream ran clear,
a Stellar’s jay jeered, aspen leaves
whirled, rocks gripped his shoes,
the sun burned off the fog— too
burned off clouds back of his eyes.

His glance circled, wilderness paths
offered directions but a flag of smoke
led him like a compass needle.
When he broke through the underbrush
he stared at the town dump, burning trash,
old mattresses, piles of papers, tin cans.
His eyes closed over the bright image
of a solitary campfire on a rock ledge
blanketed with pink columbine.