I too wander the temple of knowing.
A pair of hands join palms in worship, then reach for the door.
I too wander the temple of knowing. I recognize you at the door.
With each pilgrimage our eyes gleam brighter with foresight.
On the brink of an exchange, we look askance at the door.
Pour soil into our depressions, instill a garden’s response.
Hold me as my ducts stream saline: waterline at the door.
Our wanderings trail cacti, treeline, skyscrapers, street.
Meet me back home, where footsteps accrue at the door.
Your handwriting molds letters into hills. Mine landslides.
We whisper epistolary for hours—until voices unlock the door.
A compass can disorient. One day I might not find you.
Wind wrestles the might of might: modal verb stutters the door.
We braid our hair into timelines, stranded dimensions.
I live alone. I blink into a hole, ask: who is at the door?
Prayer flags string peaks of mountains in altitude breaths.
Color a sign in our name: साथी. Let it hang from each door.