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
gazing
dharmapoems 