Wolf’s Clothing

He’s trained a golden eagle
to figurehead his glove,
a harbinger of havoc
perched on the world’s roof.

He leashes it with leather
and rides across the steppes,
arm raised, its wings extended,
until they reach the wolves.

He pulls the thong, releases
the raptor from his wrist;
it beats its wings and sailplanes
and, though the prey is fast,

the bird with ease outpaces
one loping carnivore
and sinks a grapnel talon
around its snout and jaw.

They crash-land—writhing, thrashing;
the wolf is stronger, but
its claw-encaged carnassials
and canines cannot snap.

The eagle’s ripping beak-hook
tears at its face and eyes
as, panic-struck and scrabbling,
the hapless canid twists.

It ends as the berkutchi
leaps from his braking horse
and, stabbing with his katyr,
adds to his stock of furs.

The snow is churned and bloody
as off the hunter rides
a splash of savage beauty
in his Kazakh furs and hides.

Able Muse Write Prize for Poetry, 2020 ▪ Finalist