Near Moosehead Lake

Around the river's bend and towards home:
My brother, myself, a boatswain and dog.
The edge of Sugar Island was lined with white foam;
The reluctant noon sun was slowly swallowed by fog

A sound from the east in the crag of a scree
Startled the dog; his head cocked in that direction.
The boatswain whispered softly, "dog what do you see?"
My brother saw the plumage of the Peregrine Falcon

The boatswain used a branch to trace a line in the sky;
My brother secured a good photo to take.
The dog flared his nostrils and let out a cry;
The falcon's reflection flickered over the lake.

Neighboring falcons resigned to their flock
As we knotted the line and lassoed our dock.

...
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