Identify the bald eagle
staring our way
hooked yellow beak a savage profile.
I¹ve never seen one in the Adirondacks
in forty years of camping.

Is he my father, returned
proud bearing intact
to accompany my first
expedition after burial
on his hundredth birthday?

High on the snag his head swivels
glaring golden eyes fix on us
talons grip tightly.
Beneath him, I pick up
the floating white tail-feather.

Deep night I leave the campfire
lie alone on granite lapped by waves
seek solace in that Stygian sky
seek familiar stories,
our zodiac-sign, Gemini.

Shared birthday but no way were we twins;
Ursa Minor, my namesake
Ursula, little she-bear.
Ursa Major, he was always
the major one in every way.

Oh I know about impoding black holes,
turn of the key, final click of the lock.
I lived ambivalent
in his shadow
days and nights.

No shadows now, ebony-night
enveloped by evergreens
silence save for fire crackle.
I lie on the rock-curve bed
watch Ursa Major circle Polaris.

Tears run into my ears unchecked.
A shooting star demands attention
blur streaking through both Dippers
I bolt upright, have others seen it?
Mine alone to witness.