Cinerama, the Harpy Moths

Waiting in the long line of jumpers at Bunji
Only hours before the charmed cameraman
Would plunge into the flood we watched 
The waters of the Indus churning the northern
Slope of No. 9 Nanga Parbat 8126 meters
Into a raging torrent streaked orange and brown
Like a ravening tigress carrying off a Brahman’s 
Carcass to waiting cubs some place downstream
Ever stopping dropping it turning
Reassuring herself of not being hunted in turn then
Snatching it up again to move on down the ravine
Narrowing out of eyeshot unphotographed 
That night swatting at the starry campfire light
Mapping out our itinerary upon unsteady knees
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