All I take from the Land of One and Thousand Hills

A poem from a hill region in Nepal

All I take from the Land of One and Thousand Hills

those freezing winter mornings
when the wind blows hard
me and you sitting by the fire
and
a handful of tea leaves
falling into an old blackened pot;
I can watch you freely now
from the shadow of my wicker seat,
your face aglow golden with youth
and the long tongues of flames
dance in your lowered eyes; 
bewitched by haunting memories
of my desperate wanting to know
what it would feel like
to cradle your stone cold feet
in my hands;
only this and nothing else
stays with me 
now