Now I Am With The Eagles By George Wallace

Below me the plains, towns, farms, cities,

below me the fields, men and tractors, and

wagons and fields, fussy, intolerant, mute

and rude, society is a mop and disappears

rudely down aisle three, I utter this prayer

and the moon is freed of clouds, and I am

illuminated, electric, caught in the heraldic,

self-sustaining and I am a circular thing, a

cloverleaf in the architecture of going, the

mystic trefoil, a charging animal that remains

in place and knows no bridle, I am a seed in

early sunlight, unstoppable, I am hoof to dust,

natural, furious and uncontained, indifferent

to you and your human government, defiant

before your weapons, and now I am with the

eagles and you control nothing, with your ego

and your puny guns, your gross intolerances

and associations -- this my prayer, to take the

deeper breath, to seek only the compassionate,

the higher reward, this my prayer, to be one

with the eagles, in the sun and rain, the rush

of oncoming wind an illusion -- to be cliff diver,

huntress in the gorge, oblivious to gravity and

rocks, the air is a welcoming embrace to me,

I touch a match to god and god touches me

and this flame belongs to heaven, breath is

an ascending fractal of light, and I am wing

span, an offering, a persistent breeze that

crosses a mountaintop, and the face of the

Buddha widens and widens into a perfect

smile, circular, and yes there is great hope

in what lies beyond knowing, absences too

and so it goes, my heart heretical, my spirit

dangerous, now I am above laws and earth

bound churches, now I am with the eagles

and terrible too, and government diminishes —

these talons are real, do with me what you will,

earth is my inheritance, I reside here, there,

where - every I wish to, beneath heaven