I try to take stock.
Live in the moment.
But I know my thoughts are at the foothills of Himalaya and I have no more incense to burn.
I’m sleep deprived and I think it’s just time to stop.
To breath in and breath out.
I travel to the Andes and hear the Patagonian wind shaking the pines outside the window.
Your ashes are floating on a river I’ve never seen.
I walk to the lake and sit at the edge of the cliffs.
I watch Eduardo’s house hidden among the yellow alamos.
I lay my head against the mountain and feel its edges against my skin.
And in waves the sorrow arrives and washes over me.