flight of the eagle

these waters carry your image at twilight
the setting sun that has become
a twinkle in your penetrating eyes
are nothing but

you. ever so observant and ever so still
soaring high in the sky, or sitting still
at the top of a mountain

isn’t it that you carry with you
a silent primordial voice
which somehow descends over this heart
with a pang, like a sudden stab
that neither knows joy nor faith?

your feathers like petals of a golden flower
your claws that firmly hold time
your beak raised high to the skies
and your enormous incomparable loneliness
embodied in your effortless flight

isn’t it that you are an emblem
a trace and the signature of that unseen breath?
perhaps death?

isn’t that you carry with you
a silent primordial gesture
that somehow descends over this heart
with sudden sadness
like a sudden stab
coming out from the depths of universe,
to burn and annihilate this self?

one has to flow, like the water that carries
your image at twilight
one has to fly like the effortless flapping
of your wings
soaring and piercing the air
one has to see the face of death
in this moment and laugh with it
one has to move and yet anchor
in the stillness of oneself
silent and yet singing to die
living an effortless existence
solitary but never lonely,
to be and to touch
this earth water and the wind
without sadness or remorse
to be able to hold nothing
and contain all

perhaps then, perhaps then
a silent primordial voice
that somehow descends over
this heart with a pang
like a sudden stab
that neither knows joy nor faith,
will become that very voice
that very breath
an emblem a trace and the signature
of that unseen presence.