Some Slips Count

My dying day was one on hunt,

the skins I wore, well tanned.

I'm sure I hunted birds on high,

feel eagles far away

Sometime ago, I got real still

and quieted my mind.

I cast around for images

latched on to one profound.

I saw the sky through broken limbs

while lying on my back

I heard a cry that mocked my try,

a feeding eagle's call

From this remove, I know my thoughts

were drawn to those I left.

There was a girl I eyed as mine,

I'd ask when I showed proof,

that I had passed from boy to man,

earned feather in my hair.

The tallest tree the land supports,

is home to what I need.

I climbed so high to poke my eye

o'er aerie's latest floor.

The nest bowl's twice what I am tall

across from here to there

No place to hide to bide my time,

tail feathers to provide.

A heated hormone raging prod

misplaced my climbing hand

My body bounced and broke on limbs,

was painless at the end.

I saw the high noon light just fade

as I escaped this husk.

What you read is what I saw

in focused meditation

I leave to you, believe or no

the possibility.



Richard Higley© Sept 2011