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Freer
Freer than most birds an eagle flies up over San Francisco freer than most places soars high up floats and glides high up in the still open spaces
flown from the mountains floated down far over ocean where the sunset has begun a mirror of itself
He sails high over turning and turning where seaplanes might turn where warplanes might burn
He wheels about burning in the red sun climbs and glides and doubles back upon himself now over ocean now over land high over pinwheels suck in sand where a rollercoaster used to stand
soaring eagle setting sun All that is left of our wilderness.
More free than most birds, an eagle flies up above San Francisco, more free than most places. It flies high up, floats and glides in the calm, open spaces. It came from the mountains, floated down far over the ocean, where the sunset has started, a reflection of itself. The eagle flies high above, turning and turning, where seaplanes might turn, where warplanes might burn. It circles around in the red sun, climbs and glides, and turns back on itself, now over ocean, now over land, high above where pinwheels spin in sand, where a rollercoaster used to be. The eagle soars in the setting sun, all that remains of our wilderness.