We left the wine bottles
as candle-holders
to decorate the hut,
swept up and out
and down towards water and back
scrambling over bracken
clutching
at the base of young trees
like epiphytes
then down again a cracked track
where old branches lay like martyrs
over too-steep steps
back to the river
flowing faster
and deep so we couldn’t cross
without a hand to hold
and our feet were numb
and the sun
stung our wine-swept eyes.
© Saradha Koirala 2008