the eagle came to me
at Lake Winnipesaukee
although
far from the sea
like the eagles did
and still do
in the salt water inlets
of Cape Breton
perceived at that time
through the romance
of my Scot-Irish
recollections
that embody
wind filled hills
along a rocky
and gravel
kind of sand
coastline
very similar
to the homeland
easterly
the indigenously
referred to …..
by the idiomatic
across the pond ~
the beauty of the eagle’s flight
at this particular
moment
as reflected
in the shimmering
cool waters
so familiar ~ throughout
Thanksgiving week
in northern New Hampshire
a fish suddenly falls prey
to the forceful grip of talons
pale yellow
void of innocence
without hardly
a splash ……
….. death
arrives confidently
and then this
seemingly
fated victim
is lifted rudely
silent of proper prayer
yet eerily
with gracefulness
up into the air
where aptly
whisked away
to a horizon
obscured
as if preordained
metaphorically
by a misty
shrouded sky
peace out
Words by ~Keith Alan Hamilton~