Danielle C Le

dogs by the hundreds and the million dollar monks

compressors weeped off
and ghost and burma stories
were true in the uncommon quiet
of the lab
kiok told us about the poorman's big riot
chinatown, rangoon
and dogs that lined the long main street
barked and howled from sundown until sun up
while fresh spirits walked the night
among the turned over and burned out cars

ribbons of brown and orange monks
lined both sides of the road
as far as there was a barking dog
and they prayed three days
for the dead
for the gold

we wheeled our chairs closer
to counter tingles and shivering limbs
to hear her weeping down to a whisper

it was quiet again during the night
she said, it's true
but not restful anymore
not out of the corner of my eye

all is right when nothing is left

our startovers were these slow going
      throbbing shin marches until
this mark-time middle became a running in place

it seems we're out and i'm about-face nowhere
where the horizon is a small shouldered circle
      with huts on the left
           and booted steps on the right

so what      i'm only colorguard
and you think my flag's too heavy for this pole

Danielle C Le lives in San Jose, CA. "I Keep the Fingers of My Left Hand" has been published in Left Hand Maps, a San Francisco Bay Area poets anthology by A Small Garlic Press. She's a frequent flyer in the rec.arts.poems newsgroup.