EXAMINATION Called to death's home town to account for the white hairs in my beard, I take note of the orchards in blossom, the full, even stands of wheat, and the one star that broke off from the others to take its place in the netherworld. It is always twilight or just dawning here, the star is alone in a sky of red and deep violet spread like a tent close above. A crowd has gathered at the edge of the hayfield where the dark woods begins. They examine my face thoroughly. My defense claims their sky has too few lights, and the one that is there is cut off from contact with its brothers and sisters. A deep sigh of sympathy runs around the mob. The stars from the other world, it is said on my behalf, have placed the gleams of white (their jewels, their eyes, their memories) to be carried in my beard as a message, knowing I would be called to account and could show my face to the loneliness of the under- horizon with its solitary star. I have nothing to do with this, so the argument runs, and in fact might prefer a black beard or a red beard or no beard at all.