It's what the stargazer came to the meadow to see:
An icy, swift, inexorable flight,
That thin, flaming death trail.
A mouse titters, an owl calls then, soundless,
Night bird hurtles at prey.
In those final seconds, a tiny sentience knows
Claret spice of the last unplundered grapes,
Drowsy squabbles of geese on a reed-screened pond.
Cygnus arcs the width of a baby's finger while
A meteor scribes its name--
Sharp strokes of white light.
The death shriek whets the edge of autumn's first frost.
Bolide of talon and feather rends blood, bone and fur.
The cry melts away. In a single beat of hushed breath
Stargazer, geese and sky make a prayer
Then resume life's rotation towards the dawn.