I woke up to
a singed eagle
perched on a limb
outside my window,
could smell burned feathers
through the glass as if
the bird was still smoldering.
It did not call out or move
once in all the time
I was watching it, but disappeared
silently once I turned attention
to the daily routine;
the smell lingered, clung
to anything it had touched,
so that we could not move
without being reminded of fire.
