I Am His

I lie atop Sagarmāthā,
Reaching to the stars with a bare black hand,
And bare lungs.
Never will I be closer,
Never will my chances be greater,
But he stakes claims into my body.
I recall beach nights similar,
And the flickering failure of my head lamp,
A beacon for the Universe,
A beckon. I accept.
Chilled beyond feeling,
And more tired than anything alive,
What a dream.
The muscles in my arm freeze contract,
As Sagarmāthā and I vie for mastership.
I close my eyes in defiance of perception and slip.
I open my eyes to plum dawn,
And a yak nuzzling my hand, an extension of Earth.
He picks me up and lays me across his back,
And I course my fingers through his hot, superzero
Hair,
And watch the Sun rise,
As he carries me down.