in Nepal (June 1971)

resting in a hill-station guest-house,
after a bout of dysentery

the street dealer's tab;
“California sunshine, clean, nice..."

is starting to hit
I'm smoking a chillum of charas

through the fug
I see a woman,
a mahavidya maybe -
pad the jasmine track
to a distant wayside shrine

pennants and wind chimes
line the pathway
incense drapes the trees.

she sings
an entrancing mystifying hymn
that taken up in the songs of birds
festoons the granite range -
peak to peak to peak

she made the journey yesterday,
shoeless,
and the day before.

I feel each pulse
foot... foot... foot
bruising the grass.

and with each step
the sigh of rooted blades
that would walk beside her
if they could.

‘her gods are not known to me,
all gods are unknown to me’

I am rooted too.