At 11,562ft above sea-level
amongst suspended clouds
hanging between the dry earth and the cobalt sky
you walked in carrying the sun in your backpack.
Packed like sardines in a can
we went all over the rooftop of the world
bathed in newness and serendipity,
a van full of fortuitous happenstance.
When I returned back home
I thought of you as a miracle
that may have unfolded across ‘the land of high passes’
or it may just have been the altitude bending my mind.
And then you waltzed in a week later
taking me on a flying carpet
to discover yet another diagram of smiles and miracles
this time hidden within a million temple bells tolling all at once.
And now you’re gone
back to the other hemisphere of the Earth
and I feel fragmented
like a part of my fabric got stuck to your hands and it’s still unraveling as you walk to work.