Nurture at Cooper’s Rock

It is always at the overlook, where my destiny meets chasm,
to fly over edge free as the eagle I have memorized for an hour
or walk back to my rusting car feeling the tug of future centuries,
as if there are companions in the hush of seasons.
Spring filled with magnolias, summer, lichen and pine,
fall, oak and ash and beech, winter, rain and snow and wildness.
Sometimes there is a hand to guide me over weathered rocks.
Sometimes there is only me and I must press on into some sort of
          destiny.
Willpower more potent than word power. Hunger a slow churn.
One day, I will be that circling eagle, drifting on currents,
my voice will not be my voice, but thousands, millions.
My words, incantations drifting into those fighting in solitude.
Let my words bring lilacs, summer driftwood, moss and decaying
          earth.
Let me be the hand you hold when the cold rains pelt you as you
sit on the rock wondering if you should eagle, let me wipe the salt
from your face and help you dream yourself into wild.