The wagtail darted across my vision
of the vapour lakes caressing the lows
around the Seven Sisters.
My eyes snapped to the excited bubble
of black and white bobbing rapidly
around a moth, flailing
in the sunrise.
As the wagtail makes one snapping dash,
the moth careens randomly into the
ground, wings curling around a body in repose.
The wagtail alights near the moth
and stares down, feet agitated,
head flicking for a clear angle,
hops twice about the corpse,
and away in hungry bewilderment.