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.