East of the river, we spent some time
in town meandering vacant lots where
only daffodils mark archaeological remains
foundations, the odd driveway
past the canals with their white drape
of Franklin gulls an eagle sits
his favorite tree the two of them
the tree dying the eagle growing
into his feathers, perhaps a three year old
not yet capped like the mountains
of Denali or Orizaba
on the return trip time has sped
so that the tree upriver now hosts
an eagle mature in all his majesty
taking time away
from a nest to bask in last sun
before ferrying fish back to the south
for shredding into hungry maws
beak and talon poised
Which is more eagle then?
That sub-adult waiting to be crowned
or the mantled veteran who comes yearly?
Do they differ, the watch, the wait?