Where Eagles Cry By Moira Kinlock Silently, where eagles cry
by harvest moonlight golden-white
she dances in the autumn night
bare arms uplifted to the sky. Woman-goddess, child of the earth
limned in heaven's brilliant fire
culmination of desire
creation marveled at your birth. The stars are circles set ablaze
congealed to white lines as she spins
a universe contained within
kaleidoscoping in her gaze. Then black as midnight's final hour
her hair falls forward on her breast
as on her knees she fails to rest
before the wellspring of her power. Pale, ghostly as aurora's flame
the moonface shimmers in the stream
where darklight shadows jump and gleam
and none but wind shall call her name. None shall pass but bird and fox
and nature gives no reason
but the changing of the season
upon the eve of Equinox. —Moira Kinlock | 
