…and we sprawl with it
and hear another world for a minute
that is almost there.
– William Stafford (“Sending These Messages”)
Only the excited know the thrill—you tell us:
riding upon a Red Tail in the creek
hiding a kill beneath a skirt of feathers fanned
beside your horse’s shadow, looking past you,
looking up into an unseen rush of air,
louder over your shoulder, just before
the Golden Eagle lands and leaves
with the squirrel, as if you were not there.
But I can hear your squeals of disbelief
still echoing in the draws, well after
the meal was finished in a nearby oak tree.
We sprawl with it, over and over again,
share and stretch ourselves beyond this flesh—
become the eagle, become the hawk
and the sound of it is shrill.