Some herons
were fishing
in the robes
of the night
at a low hour
of the water's body,
and the fish, I suppose,
were full
of fish happiness
in those transparent inches
even as, over and over,
the beaks jacked down
and the narrow
bodies were lifted
with every
quick sally,
and that was the end of them
as far as we know_
though, what do we know
except that death
is so everywhere and so entire-
pummeling and felling,
or sometimes,
like this, appearing
through such a thin door-
one stab, and you're through!
and what then?
Why, then it was almost morning,
and one by one
the birds
opened their wings
and flew.
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