My Eagle Flew

My Eagle flew with the snap of a stopper. You couldn't see her feathers as they fleeced clouds swollen fat with tears. Steering 20 degrees leeway the mist was brackish blue and barren, for there was nothing left save bits of ugly air. I should have sensed the omen especially when my grey past surfaced like old gnarled teeth stuck in the blackened gums of a roaming wave. It took the form of a rusty shackle hidden by a fresh coat of paint. Like blistered barnacles long past the prime of holding fast beneath the salt line. Like the ethereal spray off the crest of a rough wave or when the sea crashes the sand, I took a step back and uncorked a roar I'd hidden between two ribs. I thought loudly, My Eagle flew with the snap of a stopper.