His gaze upon us at the restaurant calmed my sense
of not being fully here yet, in Victoria, the place not having
captured me as I had expected,
jarred by the fencing on Paragon Street seeming to cage
in the homeless and their scattered trash and belongings
just blocks away from the Empress Hotel where one spends
one hundred dollars for high tea
isn't this the way it is in big cities, all of them
the Dalaï Lama gazes down upon all of us who land
somehow in this restaurant with an empty table
after having searched in vain for hours
he somehow knows that I needed this calming here
surrounded as he is by prayer flags and colorful wall
coverings, the serene voice of the Tibetan waitress
I can almost feel the cool breeze blowing off the Himalayas, I
can almost touch his cheek with my
fingertip
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