YOUR OWN SONG

Your bronze halo risings to the day
trouble you nothing
over the rim of your eagle's perch
high vista on the mist morning world
where everything unravels
for your touch
and all is what it could be
just for a feathered launching.

Lakes bloom like wild mountain flowers
blue for red etceteras
petals full set
in your yearning gaze.
Wonder unending
hovers on its sun fed thermal
eyes ablaze
anew with searing search
for life that gives life
and feeds beyond mere feeding.

Hands are wings for colour
weaving patterns
where only you can hear the rush
through and past
of winds
in flight's solo voice
clear call of ages beyond the evanescing dawn
where evolution
is now the glory
of your own song.

(High Tide, Moon Ride)