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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
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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