Sitka

She waits, a grounded eagle, eating takeout, passing time, And stares, a crippled hunter, chasing salmon of the mind. She courts a passing breeze; hopeless passion stirs her wings, But she must sit, a grounded eagle, dreaming dreams of bygone things. Note: Sitka was a bald eagle I once had the privilege to know. She broke one of her wings flying into a power line and was grounded for the rest of her life.