When I ride my bike, the trees and grass flash past; when I stop on the bridge, earth and sky stand still. A single planet glows in the wide pale sky; many tracks gleam in the dark narrow cut. People laugh to hear me called a poet; when I name myself a scientist, they pretend to cry. Scribbling, scratching – what am I? Between leafy crown and dusty ground, a blue jay      scrambling in the pack.