I found your feather today on my walk
Lying against the crisp brown late-summer grass.
Did you pluck it purposefully from your skin,
Because it had lost its usefulness?
Or was it torn from your wing in a dispute
With another raptor?
Did it shake loose in a tussle
With your dinner-time prey?
Or did it simply fall unnoticed from your body
As you soared into the sky,
Leaving this small token to land on the earth,
At my feet?
At the colors and patterns the tiny barbs create,
A small part of the larger creature you have become.
The feather lies between my fingers, insubstantial.
It feels like nothing, yet
Hundreds of these lift your body into the blue day
Thousands of feet above, hundreds of miles away
Here on earth
With your feather.