The Eagle’s Headdress

From that day that J’uanchok
gave me

his Eagle’s Headdress to wear 
on the fullest moons,

I haven’t missed a date.

Faithfully, under his sentinel
glare,

I don this white feathered mask
like a new skull

and marry its spirit—

spreading my wings, learning its
precision,

soaring hawk-like through moonlit 
forests

and over sandy beaches;

bumbling bitterly by, my fellow peers
mumble their disapproval:

“What nonsense!” they snicker. 
“Such absurdity!”

But J’uanchok, arms folded, stands
watching from a distance.

Only J’uanchok knows that
it is no game;

only he knows that I’m really
learning to fly