“The ‘path’ comes into existence only when we observe it.”
—Werner Heisenberg

A bee hovers—
facing, as I do,
the wedge of sky
pointing down
the canyon,
absorbing heat
from the granite walls.

We are nearly still—
wings beat precisely
to stay in place.
Heart beats precisely
the languid pulse of sitting.

I see a jagged line of light
shoot from the bee down the canyon.
then the bee takes off,
following the path.

My heart has quickened, slightly.
The bee is gone.

(The spinning earth adjusts
the shade of a tree,
cooling my back.)

What I saw is proven
real by the direction of time.

The light was yellow.
The rocks are radiant.