Reflection of moon past twilight.
To pierce it, to disrupt,

could be a dive from high.
All chaos.

I ponder, swimming alone,
splitting the moon by my hand, scooping it, softly.

The fish must feel my tension.
Fretting madly when they can’t avoid

the ripples forming in the surrounding space, until, sick of it,
completely shaken by it, suddenly, it takes them.