Shadows

Kathmandu kept growing into concrete
from where we sat and looked down.

These were "pretty" buildings.
But none of them was home for us.

I heard him talk about his family
in a tone that removed him elsewhere.

The Shivapuri hill started catching fire
and I had no voice to point it out to him.

I was instead thinking of the crickets
and the Nagarjuna hill that shimmered in your voice.

When we stood up and started walking downhill,
the streetlamps lighted our back.

Our shadows- oblong,
were awkward as they walked.

His tone made me want to hold his hand
as he tripped on words.

My eyes, on the shadows trailing down the hillside
almost knew the feel of your hand.