Sometimes in early morning I can hear an eagle
somewhere in the trees above our house, its high-pitched
keening always a surprise, considering the esteem
with which we hold this avian critter. I always expect
something more grand, more fierce. I've not yet
seen the eagle, nor the owl which I heard last summer
and fall at twilight: deep dusky hoo-hooing. I live
in a collision of suburbs and nature.