Midnight pools catch the brilliant lanterns
carried by women in procession. Deep into sleep
I follow them home. As their voices mingle
with dawn’s first rays, light flickers across the trellised blossoms
Late into morning I wake. The Swayambhu Stupa,
long risen from the mist, gleams. Far and wide circle the hawks
in layered tiers. I ride their wings along the ridge wrung path
deep into the season deep into valley wide,
the heavy headed grain, golden below
Down swoop the hawks, taking me with them
wild-eyed into the sun distilled distance
With lowered gaze, I return to the city, I return
to the world I know. As I circle the stupa,
their vibrant calls, deeply felt from the earth up
along legs and arms and spine, carry me
with them far and wide, with the winds with the breath
with the sun and moon-swept tides. In this way
aloft with the winds, day into night, I center myself within
Down swoop the hawks with each step and breath,
lifting me, lifting us, here
and away.
Photo by unknown.