Bach's eagle

He sleeps in me,

and dreams.

I move in subtle ways,

lending an ear, an arm.

He turns restless, at times, then

restive, obtaining both peace

and journey.

Blossoms recede beneath new boughs

and occasionally, a gardener comes

with his shears.

Branches bend and slightly shiver after

the weight of fruit falling, its only sound,

or birds, their brief encounter

this feathered song that takes flight

from a cradled egg that breaks like night.

O how he told me, showed me, the heart is made

of sticks and twigs lined with fuzz from its own down.

"As the modulation rises, so may the King's Glory.."

Bach, Canon per Tonos