A Human-Controlled Process

For the most part, the robot,
Being a gentle flower,
Unfurls its lenses itself,

But some delicate petals
Will blossom in sequences
Orchestrated by people

In nests of other robots,
Other systems of control,
On the receding planet.

Humans don’t trust robots much,
As parents don’t trust children,
As planets don’t trust life forms,

But it’s fun to imagine
Any other flower on Earth
Being opened from far off

By some kind of sentience.
Would remote-controlled roses
Triggered by whalesong blossom

In obedient sequence?
Tulips plotted by foxes?
Chrysanthemums by horses?

Could a whole planet open
Because it had to, being
Precisely choreographed

According to dictates sent
By watchful alien gods
From a receding distance?