To Kanchenjungha

For you could not be seen, you could not be seen
As my eyes strove to find their tear-kin,
For I knew then, as I know now—
That all beauty is meant to die somehow...
When my hand reached out and clutched his sleeping frame,
I knew then, too, this love had no name.


I smelled his breath, I tasted his woe
Even as my heart dreamed of the golden snow;
I lost my self with each thrust of his weight,
And regained my self in the frozen cold after-sweat.
May the mist clear, may the traces remain,
Even as I may not hear this song again.