Bald

and indifferent events pass
dissolving hearing

I squeeze a tune
from a bald piano
a cracked coffin

And pick up my scratched laurels
Yet still
I do not know where to turn

Fishing
on an old bridge
I view the city lights

There everyone is too busy
to see a bald eagle land
and share his secrets

We talk
until I fall asleep
on his back

I wake up awaking the eaglets
and making a nest for their warm
and bald wings