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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

The Eagles (Lake Erie)

I watched two eagles
feed their eaglets,
guardians of sky’s purity,
high in the sepulcher of their nest.
Rulers of the wind,
sculpturing the vast precincts
of space, redeeming something gone.
Taking away the dark hiatus
of a spoiled land,
this lake of shadows.
They are the wilderness
opening its hand,
blowing its spirit on the prostrate fields.
Eagles, bringing the wild chastity
of their strength.
Ellipses on the sun.
Vespers of the lake singing hymns
under their towers,
and taking us
out of the poorhouse of ourselves.

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