I survey the hillside for others
and find no one.  There’s a path
the wind wipes clean
of footsteps.  It stays hidden
behind stones and stumps.
But frayed ends of briars
show me I am not alone.

Magellan reconciled this feeling
of false discovery within himself.
He knew the sea wouldn’t spit
serpents, and the mapmakers
were wrong.  Vessels had opened
the water, and he followed
their wakes that never smoothed.

The same darkness that conceals
coastlines shortens my search.
It might strand me until morning
unless I return or the overcast
offers up its stars.


© 2004 by Jason Fraley. All rights reserved.