I am flying
in a holding pattern
high above
the sea of night.

Below, the waters are beautiful
they reflect the moon
and me.

Towering waves
seem insignificant
for I am high;
no roar of storms
here, all is silent.

Slowly,
I breathe.

Slow is the beating
of my wings.

A filament of light
streaks the horizon -
soon, the time to act
will come.