Sorrow on the other side of the world

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.





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