I order the food altar overhauled: calendars,
jigsaws and three wind-up clocks top the
offering tray. During the monsoon retreat
monks scrawl verses on paper
made from pounded rice
then set fire to the pages.

Incense smoke wafts prayers
to the jade and coral thrones in the sky.
Upstairs in the monastery of the clouds
devas and dakinis hear the prayers.

I stand look-out on the roof. At dawn
a long caravan crosses the snowy pass.
Twenty-five well-stocked refrigerators
on the backs of hairy yaks
slowly head our way.