I only went once
to Darjeeling,
was sure I’d return some day.
It turned out
I did not need to:
Darjeeling came to me.
In dreams, or awake,
I felt flashes of it,
smell of peat fires
on street corners,
taste of fine tippy golden
in a cup with buttery milk,
a red glimpse of poinsettia trees
in my grey life,
and the breathless climb
on steep inclines
like green velvet
that make me,
for a second,
pant again.
The places where we’ve been
(we’ve really been)
visit us regularly.
I only needed
to go once
to Darjeeling.