Diminuendo, Coasts, Buddha Morning

I climbed, not stepping on one petal, to the rim where I raised my single wing feather and waited. For the first time, I witnessed earth as painful host, not much hope for some grand galactic raptor stooping to pick the globe clean. Out of nowhere I caught myself wishing for such heroic stroke, softly brushed my fingertips across the blossoming tufts of downy verbena at my side, and understood the mother owl as mother earth, yearning, within orbit and soar, to rid themselves of me for good.