After a 15 month hiatus

I stood in front of the hawks nest

high in the poplar tree


And stood in full view on the roof

One day and then another

And then


leaving the front door I felt the whoosh of wings

down the long corridor of trees and house


Each time I ascended to the roof

with the tall bamboo pole across my shoulder

down swooped the hawk


swooped and rose and turned

and swooped again


This time another joined it

The male and female swooping

above my head


The young one still perched

on the poplar tree


Day after day whenever I rose to the roof

to meet them,


every day in those last weeks,

but for the days when the new owners surveyed the yard

and our house of 32 years


that they would soon level to the ground,

they would swoop and circle


The male within pole’s reach, the female

more than a hand’s reach above it


What do I miss of Kathmandu?


The hawks, those hawks that each day of that long goodbye

raised my eyes towards the trees and sky


My heart thrilled by their presence

And the male’s chattering hririririrhiri


whenever I stood in the open

sky-borne, inwardly





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