Eagle Cam

by Robert Gibb

The nest’s even bigger than last year’s,
The eggs as smooth as river stones,
The birds habitant along the Monongahela

From here on out, it’s hoped,
The waters now in detox.
Two hundred and fifty years at least,

The website says, since they nested last
In Pittsburgh, which helps explain
Why viewers sit tranced for hours

In front of an image as static
As a screensaver at times:
The increments of stillness in a brooding bird,

The mineral warmth of the sun,
And the raftered thatch they’ve come to,
Counting down to the first hatched shell.

Then nestlings, then eaglets,
The testing flights, as though the trees
Were now opening their hands.

The moral arc bends upward, said Dr. King.
If only the wells weren’t being fracked
At the drag end of the beam.

 

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