On a day with no breeze

we found a shack in a forgotten field

littered with stones and husks of ancient corn.

We were afraid,

but we broke through the ragged bamboo fence

and went inside.

Even now I wish that I had shut my eyes,

not to look upon the poverty of that man’s house.

In the half darkness under the low tin roof

we saw his single cot, a dirty blanket folded,

a faded picture of a man in white,

and a glass of water, swimming with motes of dust,

which we shattered, and ran,

leaving the splintered bamboo to cast

long shadows like spears into the afternoon.

But had we sought the dead among the living?

The next day we saw

that some hand had restored the damaged fence,

and patiently

destroyed all traces of our trespass.