slightly opaque windows of my visibly dilapidating apartment on a Lhasa
afternoon.
Edging closer, creeping languidly, drawing surprising warmth to the
slight plush of my bed.
Its dusty bright making the pillows beckon audibly: the persuasive
invitation of a bed desperate for company, a body desperate for rest.
I lay in the sunny warmth as under a heavenly blanket, the only covering
I need.
From the soul outward instantly paralyzed by comfort.
Oh two-thirty pm sunbeam! I stir no more!
Until my Tibetan lesson at three. Pangahlah! (It's a pity!)
Sunbeam, will we meet again?
