Herring

Herring

In currents off the Barrier Reef
two swordfish probe
a silver ball of herring,
driving them toward the surface—
where the panicking fish
turn back,
gathering into a communal ball
once more,
each fish believing
it is again safe, hidden.

Each time the swordfish lunge
the herring veer outward—
only to return
to their shrinking ball, the way a flower
in time lapse photography
opens into a blossom,
then closes in on itself at dusk—

and still they cannot elude
the gorging swordfish
—handfuls of herring
left, the sea growing darker,
till only a diver's light or lamp
can pick out survivors,
my heart going out
to those few grains
of flickering
light.