abe lincoln once turned to somebody and said do you ever find yourself talking with the dead there are three tiny death s heads carved out of mammoth tusk on the ledge in my bathroom they grin at me in the morning when i m taking a leak but they say very little outside phnom penh there s a tower glass paneled maybe ten meters high filled with skulls from the killing fields most of them lack the lower jaw so they don t exactly grin but they whisper as if from a great distance of pain and of pain left far behind eighteen thousand empty eyeholes peering out at the four directions electric fly buzzgreen moist breeze bone coloured brahma bull grazes wet eyed hobbled in hollow of mass grave in the neighbouring field a small herd of young boys plays soccer their laughter swallowed in expanding silence this is too big for anger it s too big for blame we stumble through history so humanly lame so i bow down my head say a prayer for us all that we don t fear the spirit when it comes to call the sun will soon slide down into the far end of the ancient reservoir orange ball merging with its water borne twin below airbrushed edges of cloud but first it spreads itself a golden scrim behind fractal sweep of swooping flycatchers silhouetted dark green trees blue horizon  the rains are late this year the sky has no more tears to shed but from the air cambodia remains a disc of wet green bordered by bright haze water filled bomb craterssunstreak gleam stitched in strings across patchwork land march west toward the far hills of thailand macro analog of angkor wat s temple walls intricate bas relief of thousand year old battles pitted with ak rounds and under the sign of the seven headed cobra the naga who sees in all directions seven million landmines lie in terraced grass in paddy in bush sally holds the beggar s hand and cries at his scarred up face and absent eyes and right leg gone from above the knee tears spot the dust on the worn stone causeway whose sculpted guardians row on row half frown half smile mysterious mute and this is too big for anger it s too big for blame we stumble through history so humanly lame so i bow down my head say a prayer for us all that we don t fear the spirit when it comes to call this is too big for anger it s too big for blame we stumble through history so humanly lame so i bow down my head say a prayer for us all that we don t fear the spirit when it comes to call