Glory

A July afternoon 
A friend’s deck 
A Michigan lake

A bald eagle lodges itself onto a nearby tree 
Big brute shoulders and murderous intent 
Then off as he galumphs over the water

A Baltimore oriole comes to a feeder 
Bold beautiful black above a brilliant belly 
I thought I understood orange

The eagle is a torpedo bomber 
The oriole God’s paintbrush 
So much to be astonished by

I look for the edge 
What we’ve almost lost 
What we’re losing

Yet today is heaven 
Bright sun dancing on blue water 
I break off a bit of bread with my wine