Aviation bladders keep the beast aloft.
It breaks formation with the fleet.
From a mile away it swoops.
Wily bait thrashes hysterically in slip knots.
The pilot loses control.
He’s flung clear of his steed,
a behemoth that makes wrens of hawks.
The bait is grazed by a razor sharp beak,
as it escapes its bonds
and lunges headfirst into a cave.
The eyes of the evolutionary watershed,
between flying reptiles and birds of prey,
spin like balls on a tricksters fingers,
as a carefully laid mat of turf and twigs,
snaps beneath its buffalo shredding talons.
Spears rain down from tree hollows.
Boulders burst through vine curtains,
and smash into the flailing wings
of a monster known to pluck canoes from rapids,
with the occupants still inside.
The mighty flyers kin
soar towards the sadistic midday sun.
Their co-pilots launch volleys of arrows
at the spear hurling monkey riders,
hidden in the canopy.
Beneath the misty veil of winter darkness,
Tamarin back warriors retreat into the jungle,
leaving generous portions of the goliath eagle carcass,
for their Katana fang panther retrievers.
At nightfall, an egg is spotted at the ambush site
and winched on to a buggy.
Before it’s rolled into the warmth,
by the fire, in a canyon hideout,
it begins to crack.