a path almost missed, while searching for
come upon an assembly
of cairns. Is
The first object
that strikes you as you go down
the hill into Tibet,
is a mount in the
middle of the plain.
It is where the people of Par-jong expose their dead.
Beyond, a flat gray plateau
sprawls past the pale,
a horror vacui coterminous with
the theology of
our ambitions. What
do we seek so rapaciously,
like harpies beating galvanized
wings over blood-
smeared post-uterine skins?
Then, under the
A broad smile lights his sallow face.
"Did you get to Lhasa?" I ask. "Did you find
the lama you were seeking?"
"I can't say," he replies. "I really