08/31/2024
MUKTINATH
Dawn at Muktinath
and I look through the window,
white mountains and the steady
slopes of snow,
cold scent of pine and the raven-call
of black birds
circling upward – toward nothing.
So the breath escapes the mouth,
spiraling in a cold room,
so the words leave our lips,
the first line of a long poem
with no courage to finish.
This is the place the path begins,
the empty room beneath the breath
where everything we’ve broken
comes back to be repaired,
where bitterness returns, opens,
turns to a final sourness
on the lime washed walls
and disappears.
This is the place we start again,
Place sunburnt knuckles in moist eyes
And bow the head,
Feel the rough cold wall
On the forehead and weep.
This is the place we stop,
look up, lean out the window
and find the first signs of life.
Beneath us
a child is crying,
while above,
a tight arrow of driven ponies
points the way to the high pass.
..
‘Muktinath’
River Flow: New and Selected Poems
Many Rivers Press © David Whyte
..
The Path Begins
Photo © David Whyte
Jenny Lake. Wyoming
August 25th 2024
