A Small Moth Poem

a small tremor in middle america not enough to scare the cat but the cat knew a mess on the desk the thin vase with its lone chrysanthemum toppled spilled water printing a figure smudged — moth shaped in the middle a cortical cortex sliced for microscopic examination in the middle a moth when tremors threaten all things run to the middle across the mid-point of the rug the cat has fallen asleep the ink-image crawls away its wet wings drooping that night a dream - flying through my own head a small light in an endless dark only i in the middle