Every lake a loon, an eagle

Unearthly, we say, of the loon's call
echoing through the dark,
its deep dive in black water, its low float,
red eye, ringed neck,
diamonds of light like the lake in sun
glittering along its back.
And when the pair came to our campsite,
minor-keyed notes ascending,
falling, a music that threaded light
through lake and mist to cloud,
we turn as though summoned:
The male rose up before us
and beat his wings about his moon-white
breast, a winged being
singing water and sky to the earthbound,
and the full moon rose.