Angle A
Dank moth on the periphery a distraction
Focus could recover identity but
The sky drops cold with weight of evening
And heels scuffle slow black water.
Tormenting face in the lake, undrowned,
Returning gaze distorted through water
A risk beneath the surface, an impulse to respond
Liminal recognition of moth as movement
Chased in accumulating black water
Layout of the streets returns in desperation
Tired beyond stamina, one foot follows the other
Bullet passing through water, refracting
No fix’ed point upon which to pause
I shot him. Shot the bullet refracted
Through black water, in generalized anger
Distracted by the moth, or precise calculation
