Ethos
High above an eagle drops across the sky.
In all that wilderness of points of green,
those thousand eyes,
where does the creature start
under the wilderness of pain, sharp-tipped?
What brow lifts in the din, uncovering
what single featured face
staring upwards into the centre of the sun?
Branches stir in the heavy air
impelled into greenness, suck and push
out of their hidden lair.
Silence echoes like a heart throb.
The river moves. The eagle
Whirls out of sight,
and sun and sea are night.