THE NATURALIST
Along the river, the eaglets
circle. They narrow their arc
around Narrowsburg; dark as
it is, by night. Yet, no matter.
The true thousands of stars
hold time with Nature, while
the bats come out of the rock
crevices on Perkins Pond Road.
They skim the wide window,
scaring even me, in this light.
No matter their declension,
they turn off, always, veering at
the last moment, by whatever
means to use, to avoid the
window's glass. Behind
that, by which I sit.
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