Classic Poem

There is an eagle screaming from a roof
In Walpi, a black eagle with pale eyes.
The kitchen smoke
Morning and evening rises in pale columns.
At noon the heat beats down
Upon his head and cloaks him all in fire.
He never sees the Indians below him,
All day from dawn to dark his look goes out
Across the striped reds of the painted desert,
All day he looks far off to cloud-hung mesas,
All day he screams.