The World Without

for Dennis and Mary Streif

I was in Kathmandu once.
At night, when walking back
through the outer roads,
the stubble in the fields
and the sound of the dog's bark,
the moon rose.

An october orange harvest moon
illuminating like a lamp
the great mystery of the city.
Dark cinder block wallways,
chortens, pagoda rooftops,
the billows of woodsmoke.

In the distance
the roar and the din
of the taxicabs
along the main conduits...
But in the quiet and dark sidestreets
newari households lit by the blue cone flame
making curry over the primus stove.

In the darkness of the backroads
travelling fast to find my way home,
fingers sticky with tangerine juice,
I walked home to
the mystery of the world without.
And the life of the world within.