Darjeeling Through My Window
Maybe you’re eating lunch now, a plate
of jasmine rice and naan. I can taste
the chai you slowly sip and feel
the mountain breeze on my arms. How
deep in the Himalaya’s shadows do you
bathe with your bucket of cold water?
Can you see Nepal from your window?
Can you see me lying here in the dark,
half a world away, half a day behind?
From my bedroom window I see only
the dark street numb beneath heavy fog.
Half asleep I reach for you, feeling only
the phantom of your breath on my neck.
I’d like to go back to San Francisco
with you and not have to worry about
getting you to the airport on time
Blue with abyss Vishnu lays there
dreaming the universe into again
on a couch of softest magnitude.
I am a gone game redundant upon
the sloven river, napping to Chopin,
the Bhagavad Gita under my head,
the OM blanketing my plastic body,
drowning in a vague recurrence.