Peepshow

There were four of them out on the trail.
Sunlight blazed through pine. Horace
Pondered deeply what they'd left behind
And what lay ahead. They hewed north
Up the rocky incline, past Steeple Creek,
To a bit of marshland disguised as coast.
An eagle unfurled. They watched it, rapt

In the exact silence of their arrival.
A row of willows straggled the horizon,
Portals of apprehension. He was unprepared
For their extravagance—

                                                     Their leafy vaudeville.
Inveterate ogler, your company's irrelevant.
Next year you'll scale this height alone, learning
The river's grammar, her true unvarying course.

— Sunil Iyengar