Observing a Cliche From a Rocky Promontory

Above the heat the sky is flecked with ice. The sun is no longer burning, it’s a ghost lamp swept by the rags of a coat-tailing wind. There it is - arriving out of a hazy distance a living cliché, a Bald Eagle It must have caught a thermal. I think of all the medallions and coins it has been stamped and embossed upon; here it is an existential exclamation mark. The eagle veers away turning deeper into the ice-blue. No one witnesses this, even my eyes watch cynically, the jaded disappointment of this sadness is darkening my sight. All hail to the he American eagle - slowly disappearing. © 59 mins ago