Haunt of the White Dogs

the edge of water bends

everywhere at once

the peasant shoots

and the far-off domed city

is saved from the birds.   A small rustle

of stars

in the evening full of hot manure

and the gods of ham-and-eggs

gleefully plunge

from lorry to limo

to a kitchen full of blood-red roses

and then back to this unlit garden

marketed by the winds.   They had begun to hear

ghost signals from all those little palaces

wh    -    wh    -    wh    -    wh:

from Calcutta Orchids

� Dale Houstman

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