Witness

I have seen an arrow pass through the heart
Of a deer--and the deer, with scarcely a flinch,
Continue to chew the moss
That blackened the roots of an oak.
But the deer knelt down, at last,
In damp leaves, cocked his head to hear
A sound, then sagged, paling the earth
With his white throat, his loosening skin.

And I have seen a carpenter,
With his palm pierced in a jig-saw, put down
The half-carved block--the wood
Sallow as flesh stripped bare--
And so as not to snap the blade, pull it
Clean through the webbing of his hand,
His eyes raised the way the murdered look
To the sky, as vague as St. Sebastian's stare.

The dark pines in winter I have seen,
With branches full of snow, conceal
The kerosene drunks
Gone to sleep in the shells
Of abandoned cars, and I have seen
Those men stumble in the woods at night:
Their hearts answer one another
Like ripples after a stone, or wings,

With blood that wells from everlasting wounds.

copyright 2003 Temple Cone