The Eagle.

The Eagle.

In high, wild wind 

I watch her ride corridors of air.

The wind is in her pinions,

in the effortless deftness

and minute calibrations

of her circling glide.

My blurred, distant world

is her sharp focus.

An easy surge corrects her path

and she veers rapidly away

on another current of air.

My voice is a thin whisper 

on the high mountainside.

“Queen of air, 

hollow-boned,

with dagger talons, 

scimitar beak,

gowned in barred brown

and robed in wings more glorious 

than garment of embroidered gold,

how you glide, dive and spiral

in majesty and mastery.

Fly close, fix on me

your clear and amber eye,

share with me,

you, who are so high and noble,

so fierce and wild,

so unshackled and free.”