We are in London,
having said our final good-byes,
feeling very small, tired, minor
We are in slow motion,
taking in the spinning, colorful world
ready (?) to dive into the sky again
Days blur, are loosely defined by
gate numbers, snacks
prunes, pretzels, candy, almonds
and public restroom visits
Are we dreaming?
Is it actually Wednesday?
Have we really come this far?
08.16.09
The sun rises, illuminates the Himalayas
Bells and birds and Hindus sing
Dogs speak their own language
Roosters make themselves known
Women beat rugs, sweep porches
Horns blow in the distance, like music
I wait for water to boil for my tea
I make quiet tip-toes across the marble floor
Dishes clang softly together as
I put them back in the cupboard
Masked men ride away on motorcycles
Gates slam shut behind them
Neighbors greet each other, namaste
Men and women go to market
From the rooftop, green gardens grow
Gentle monsoons feed their roots
I breathe in their oxygen
I breathe in this Kathmandu air
Wild, dirty, beautiful air
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