By Andrew Robin

We went out seeking eagles.
We found two ravens and a gull

and strands of bull kelp left ashore
in fraying shawls the driftwood wore.

We found bones.
A seal had washed up in the stones;

tiny crabs had clipped it clean.
A swathe of barnacles was green

along the belly of a tree
submerged for half a century.

We flushed a hawk; it threw
deep glints of auburn as it flew.

There were siskins in the wood.
A chipmunk leapt and scowled and stood.

Foxgloves gleamed. An earthy hole
was left where there had been a mole.

We climbed a low rise where the trail
faltered south and west and failed

in shadows woven through the ferns,
where years ago some hemlocks burned.

The greater part of morning gone,
we made a silent push for home,

and at the orchard gate we found
an eagle feather on the ground.

Copyright Robin 2023