You can’t say hand without picturing either a right
or a left. You can’t think moon without
seeing it in one of its phases.
When the arrowheads rise
to the surface after the winter rains
you can’t say again. This is a first discovery
for these individual flints.
The arrowheads have become scarce, and this drought
makes the few that fall upward
from inside the earth gleam.
Here we are, discovering in a field where
such finds have always been made. Depleting the source,
people searching, although to say people is to picture
a kind of person, a specific individual,
child, or parent, or even a convict tired of being on the run,
and puzzling over what a gift the day has brought him,
sharpness and symmetry that even now could kill.