Lasting Directions

the Eagles are dipping low
'round the ice

the shaved ice.
they are large birds and golden
if rightly hit by the
summer light the summer
light of ice
that the Eagles
are dipping low
'round. the furrowed brow of field is prearranged
and green
and light
green and
dark green (where the
shadows are flocking
higher closer. a cloister of celibate blackbirds
darkening
the field.)

and the ice is making swans out of Gods again small
gods lining the roadsides along the way to the ocean
which is not green this time of year. the small gods
who never were swans until the diamondedged wing
of the Eagle
dips low 'round the ice
and shatters the geometric fragments
over the smaller
gods.

and they are swans.

oh
not birds for singing no or the small
tracings of some-
thing cut against the early windows. not
birds for silence nor
calm

they are proud and golden birds,
the Eagles

dipping low
'round the ice