Silent shoosh of grass all tan and

Green and slender wythes

Of black and brown against sleek

Black and orange all vertical and stuff.


Slo-so-slo, the eye upon the prize

And brother tan upon the shorter

Grass, Savannah-land, moves

Slo-so-slo ‘til churning speed and heat.


Fast-so-fast, the eye upon the prize

Dropping from the sky, talons

Sharp-so-sharp to pierce and then

To meet within the beating heart.


Silent, loping run, tongues lolling

Each takes a turn and runs at speed

Canines cutting… panicking, the prey

Runs through the snow they run upon.


Scything through the standing stalks

Of gunners, black cowl pulled low

Over white of bone… a walk at leisure

Amongst the boys who would be men.


First prey, then predator, later both

At once, he preys upon all things, his

Own as easily as upon the others. The

Predator who grieves is on the hunt.