The black stone of
Nui Ba Den rises above rice paddies
and thin farmers toiling beneath
cone-shaped straw hats
as they herd oxen over dirt and bone dust
surrounding green rectangles and
reflecting pools.
At night the full moon sits atop the peak,
staring at grass and water like the silver
eye of a carp.
Underneath the muddy Mekong is a broken
helicopter blade,
a sword beaten into a ploughshare a few
miles
from the tattered threads of the Ho Chi
Minh Trail.
A gentle wind combs the water and the rice
weed,
summoning forth the moaning of
long-forgotten ghosts.
It is unclear whether they are crying or
finally making love.
~William Hammett
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