The eagle is my power, <br />And my fan is an eagle. <br />It is strong and beautiful <br />In my hand. And it is real. <br />My fingers hold upon it <br />As if the beaded handle <br />Were the twist of bristlecone. <br />The bones of my hand are fine <br />And hollow; the fan bears them. <br />My hand veers in the thin air <br />Of the summits. All morning <br />It scuds on the cold currents; <br />All afternoon it circles <br />To the singing, to the drums.<br /><br />Navarre Scott Momaday<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/eagle-feather-fan/
