LEH

The windows alive

and the cold pouring out of the soft

light

remind me of the day I saw you climbing over the mountain,

bringing snow, 

and rain,

and thunder like a drum.

A heart’s drum; stretched tight and tuned by the coming and going

of the monsoon,

and you.

The dun peaks crowded with dust that

settles on my face, my hands,

clash themselves with the pale blue

distance,

and the farther, higher peaks,

covered with last years’ snow.

A dark misshapen wraith I mistook for an animal, some animal,

a yak,

or a Yeti,

proves to be you, grasping down the uncertain trail

that will lead you here,

to wherever I am.

All winter, I waited.

Hot in the belief that you would

return,

I kept to my faith

my not knowing,

my hope.

I couldn’t tell if I still wanted you.

But now, with throat stretched tight

my uplifted head,

the wind still cold in early Spring,

I know that if you send word,

I will go.

Past the gompas,

the white stupas that line the ringing air,

the ragged prayer flags pointing everywhere and nowhere,

I will climb carefully,

not daring to look down.

I will hear your broken footsteps,

tracing the path through the broken

boulders,

the chorten,

the ancient stones that will always worship the sky;

I will hear you coming

and I will meet you on Khardung La.

 

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