Ornithology Abandons Athena
Your scorched throat calls out to nothing,
nothing but rotten owls.
Owls, for so long so wise, dining on infinity.
Now there is no time left to sustain
their elevated metabolisms.
They’re starving, hunting anything that moves.
Yet you dodge them so professionally,
have done so all your life,
let them pass right overhead
with a wave of your hand
and an unbroken stride,
leave them decomposing in the treetops
ever hungry for just a little more time.