Seeing the Eclipse in Maine

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It started about noon.  On top of Mount Batte, 
We were all exclaiming.  Someone had a cardboard 
And a pin, and we all cried out when the sun 
Appeared in tiny form on the notebook cover. 

It was hard to believe.  The high school teacher 
We’d met called it a pinhole camera, 
People in the Renaissance loved to do that. 
And when the moon had passed partly through 

We saw on a rock underneath a fir tree, 
Dozens of crescents—made the same way— 
Thousands!  Even our straw hats produced 
A few as we moved them over the bare granite. 

We shared chocolate, and one man from Maine 
Told a joke.  Suns were everywhere—at our feet.

© Robert Bly