Flew Off An Eagle
Out West Turn on the way to Sixteen,
the Bookcliffs
loom up from the soft horizontal muds
of the Cretaceous Seaway.
The ancient beach - now slowly receding
tough rock - losing to the sun
in a glowing spasm. Two ravens cry
and float tiny from a middling knifed ridge.
Slope and Cliff.
Mud and Sand.
Sea rise and fall. Wavelike the beach
moved back and forth. Walking on
interbedded sandstone and shale
with the small dog - oblivious to scale - the
coyotes
screamed their yip. I found an eagle feather
and thought I could almost
believe in god.
Of course, I too, walk on water
several months a year.
Up high, an unseen movement heard.
Rock fall, echo down, and recede.
From the high ridge
the snow-covered great valley
looks like it could be uninhabited.
Maybe late Cretaceous.
One or two dim lights,
now three;
a hard-eyed woman
in a small shelter
builds a fire.
Humanity
on the edge of the sea. Quiet,
young Venus sharp
above the western dune.
To have one true Friend in this life is enough.
Twice last week, on the ridgeline, a coyote
leapt into the sky and flew off an eagle.
