I go into the mist tonight. Another black man is dead. My country is authorized. I am allowed to be angry in the mist. To get to my mist I cross the signs repeating in the important languages, You are leaving the American zone. It is important to know what I have given up by crossing into myself. In the mist it’s misty, but I can see. Okigbo is there with the goddess. So’s a knight in full armor charging thin air. There are silences where screams should be. I wanted to come here to consider the origin of heaven and earth. But today a man is dead. Today is every day of my life. No one taught me to be angry. Okigbo immerses himself in the river that is his goddess. The knight rides aimless, thrusting a lance into darkness. Riot police show up and throw tear gas. Hey, this is my mist, I say, and they fire.