Lethargic Apperception I

My father was a forester in the Alpine woods
and also in the Andes. He roamed about the
under brush, rode a horse and carried a thin
iron wire that he painted with glue to poke
in the tiny holes of tree trunks so that worms
and bugs would stick to it: my father was
the servant of woodpeckers, woodpeckers were
the servants of my father.
My father rode a horse, and one day . . .
                                  and one day . . .
                                  and one day . . .
two eagles plunged from the sky and grabbed
my father by the shoulders with their talons,
ripping him from his horse and pulling him up
into the clouds only to shake him loose way
off in the cosmos.