Where He Flies. Poem by Barbara Mitchell

Where He Flies.



I saw a man chained to his eagle. The bird did not look happy at such an arrangement.
If I were that man, I thought, I would not choose to allow that raptor's beak so near my eyes
in case he were to think to pluck them out, like a hill lamb's.
And those great sails of wings, stretched to finger a passing breeze, could mantle my head
as he tore the meat from my face in rapturous gulps.
Why did he not desire to break free? Caught, like a pet on a leash...but not tame!
That yellow, hostile gaze, spoke of soaring over voids, harnessing the Earth's cast-off breath.
That oiled head, turning like a gun turret.
How rendingly strong the clutch of spiked feet on leather gauntlet.
How perfectly made he was for his stolen purpose.
This, I saw, and thought to set him free.
Just for a moment, snared in the globe of his eye I saw circling suns. Felt the heat of his desire,
was humbled by his disdain.
In a heartbeat he cast me off as merely mortal...such rage in a blink!
Wed to the wind, King of the distant crags and consort to the stars
is not for the likes of me.

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