yet we have not seen
the tearing of skin, the
initial mist of blood, the
ribbons of quivering muscle,
the loops of organ spilling out
in the rush a messy tangle,
the exposed sweet liver,
growing still pearl-like.

no, not yet
the brutal wound, but
a moment before;

the silent perch,
the imminent shadow
taking on a violent name
even before it becomes
apparent to the light,
only the yellow talons
left exposed to suggest
this cruelty.