|Excerpts > Fall 2006|
|Maya Rani Khosla
In Bhutan my cameraís click jerks a yak
a goatherd struggling to lift her dead goatís feet, stuck
As I reach for water in the darkness a half-human
Dawnís green butterflies alight on pines miles
maybe leopard. Deep in a riot a child is torn off a woman
on the rooftops to join smoke from a still-simmering bazaar.
the goatherd shrilling for the rest of her flock.
are swelling thunderís silence.