At night a white wet place would come
Out of nowhere, with high boots in mud
An earth falling off to white snow in tea
A tepid tea to warm military stomachs.
Further down would be a turquoise lake
Lapping up against the enemy country
On other side, with their military boots
Stomping their ice, rising in icy silence
Their men looking all of them the same.
The hills would rise in their brown mud
Stripped of ice drained out last summer.
Their water rivers are bloody capillaries
That trailed off to lake’s turqoise history .
But for now we are still in that wet place
With military boots sinking in white ice.
A temple is swathed in ice that must be
Having an oil lamp to light dark innards .
Everything has to be wet , even a flame.
(Chang La is a high mountain pass (17000 ft) in the Himalayas on way to the beautiful Pangong lake)