Down by Drake’s Bay, while watching ravens climb,
And glide, and dive headlong, finally to spiral
Interlocked, tumbling, it’s as though naked being —
Kernel of all those things we knew, in childhood,
Things easily attained — reproaches me,
World being transparent, as light strikes grains of sand.
All might be justified, on our finding a theorem,
Employing axioms of common sense
And postulates of Euclid's Elements,
To demonstrate that there’s no mystery,
At noon, going any deeper than the quiet
Surface of water, where cinnamon teal
Dip heads, across the pond, beside cattails.
But knowing myself I’d have to hesitate,
As at a strange frontier, rather than face
The wave gathering scattered gold in time.
A garter snake warms itself in the shade,
In one lozenge of sunlight, and moves on.
Let there be some truth I haven't betrayed.
For Jane Hurst, near Limantour Beach
New Book: American Spartan by Ann Scott Tyson
26 minutes ago