memories of Namche
blink at bhaiyaji’s dhaba around 7 p.m
when chai runs out and you order coffee with soggy aloo pakodas.
I forget our conversation but i keep the juice bottle,
playing with the orange pulp back at my room.
one lost evening i looked out of an elevated hotel room window to a host of fireflies,
circling with snow burns, instrumental music, backpackers, warm water
and blue tents.
with each switch
the light bulbs burst.