Eagles Fly Where They Choose
A crinkled shore on the Upper Peninsula.
We are hunting Golden Eagles
cameras at the ready.
You find a small stone.
On its surface, a
crimp and cockle depiction
of wind and waves
has rucked up an impression
of an eagle in flight.
"Just water-wear."
I say.
You throw it back into Lake Huron,
won’t hold my hand,
won’t even look at me,
until I admit the possibility
of divinely inspired crinkles.
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