Touch

as if to grace me
with their presence, the
golden eagles turn and
glide above me, soar
on the updraught, wings
outspread - I watch
their feathered fingers,
their coloured bodies,
as they glide round
over my garden as I sit

the swallows and the
swifts chatter and dive,
blow raspberries, swerve
and scythe, as if
they too bid me remember
there is life, remind me
to live

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