Purple rhododendrons
and juniper trees
line the lower slopes
during the early stages

Dilating, bursting with colour,
they release the air my lungs need
life breathes below the tree line

Squelch of mud –
dappled forest shade –
crooked white tree trunks
are the bones of my body

Smell of incense in the air

Instead of pushing outwards,
I open inwards
As the trees breathe,
I breathe

Rosefinches warble their song
Grasshoppers buzz

The vitality of foothills
generate a field of energy
from which my climb begins

Air thins with the ascent

River rushes past

in a chasm below

My thoughts are malleable,
rolling with rapids,
steadied by dilating trees

From new heights I look back
at the lower slopes
A reflexive gap has opened up
Atmosphere emptied of birdsong

At Dingboche, a fellow hiker
becomes delirious,
confused rhizomatic apparitions
blurring his mental map.

But I have taken Diamox
and acclimatized along the way

Clouds weave patterns
at this altitude
which are subtler, more delicate

Chomolungma rises in the sky,
imprinting its constellation

Khumbu icefall

Lake of ice shivers and reflects,
shivers and reflects

In the stillness I see
a clear reflection,
a clear perception