​The silent assassin
slaloms,
at night,
tight weave,
branch and leave,
limbos below
the low-lying.
Hurdles the high,
adroit flying.
A subtle shift
of yaw and pitch
on feather-muted
midnight breeze.
Liquid pools,
dark orbs,
cool,
they stalk their prey
with canny ease.
In a flash
of blood-red
eye shine,
wings fold
for a lightning fast
stoop,
deadly talons
dodged
in reproof.
A mere hair’s breath
from a sharp beak,
impalement, 
and a fatal leak.
Bolting deep
within a warren.
No sustenance,
this night,
for the soaring.
Who vanishes
into the silver moon.
The forest,
undisturbed,
returns to its
tune
having barely
skipped a beat
the life and death
drama,
complete.
~
M. Zane McClellan
~
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