Eagle soaring

Only in the perfection of his calligraphy With its classic loops and severe flourishes, The scribe inseparable from his inscription, The writer and the writing one, moving As slowly as a slowed moving picture -- Only in the strict dance, the passacaglia Endlessly repeating endless variations, Grave as a ceremonial saraband For which the clouds are choreographers, The wings taut with formality and formal ease -- Above all in the complete undistraction And extreme loneliness of his observational From which he bows and broods on the round world, Turning as if in imitation of her turning, Obedient to nothing but the pure act of seeing.