WHITE (II)


                              TEENS CHARGED IN SWAN'S DEATH
                              ... The youths grabbed the bird
                              when he came to the defense of
                              his mate, held him down,
                              stabbed him, and cut off his
                              head with a hunting knife....
                               — The Rockland Journal News,
                                   May 4, 1994

Trespass. And the bright stars
    deep behind the willows: those boys

    in their sallow skins vaulting
the low fence, shortcutting

the path — cool midnight
    and the nacre of moonlight

    around them — then fear
a white thing beating: the breadth

of a pond alone in the span, the white
    hiss, the gates of those mad hearts

    slamming. That much fast light —
how quickly the knife must

have cut. It is important
    to believe this: what else

    could they do but sever
what moved with such white speed,

with so much fire that it burned
    that brightly? What else

    is our fear but a white thing
lunging, what is memory but

some furious white hissing our
    names? Everything

    moves quickly in moonlight:
no matter what we cross over,

no matter how we close these beaten
    hearts, we live our endless

    lives with one white cry,
with the dazzling, indelible shame.

First published in Many Mountains Moving