Feast of October
In the middle of our fun, Khmer dancing and beer,
The sick dog wobbled out of the office room
And fell down the fishpond.
The cook and the cleaner disturbed the water lilies
To pluck him out from the bottom,
Laying him down beneath a shrub.
There is a moon growing to fruition,
A benign evening sky spreading out in our heart.
With the forest seemingly lifeless in its silence,
I grasp for the language of anything eternal,
The mighty cathedral that would bring
Indelible peace. But with this dead dog,
I also become aware that my time is rushing
Towards some unspeakable domain: a body of water,
A speck of meteor, a turbulent swirl of air,
A snare of harrowing dream.
Tomorrow I will step into the sun,
Perhaps lightly sickened by dark intoxication
And would I hear some lamentation
Over a dead dog?
22 October 2004
Koh Kong, Cambodia