Meteors, or Life and Death in Meadow

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.