Driving the island roads, slowly,
with the windows down, feeling
honeyed air glide over our skin,
we spotted them looping
in the magnificent blue sky,
four eagles swooping, sporting
in a figure 8. We followed them
as they arced and swooned, pulling
onto the roadside weeds to wonder
at their splendor. We made love
under the aspen, naked and
shameless, the wind chilling our flesh,
tense, almost savage, three times,
without pause or thought, yet sensing
the eagles' infinite flight, the
fresh-cut hay, the wasps buzzing
and their stickiness, ridiculous
butterflies fluttering everywhere.
Later, driving in silence, we
spotted an eagle in the road
pecking at a black rabbit and then,
at the last second, flying off,
its giant wings just missing
the windshield -- we felt wingbeats
in our hearts! -- and jolted in the ditch
to watch the twilight.
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