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From The Tibetan Hallway of Transition
—after “The Scent of Jade Islands” by Max Gimblett
I want to send you
this silence,
the bold fires in the mountains
and the way they torch the earth,
the way things turn luminous
and entire unto themselves
—from “Letters to Theo” by Eric Gamalinda
by Eileen Tabios
Unpin the jade scepter from its crust of diamonds, sapphires and pearls to
Follow the fall of my hair uncut since birth
Watch it skim my breasts, belly and thighs
See it pool around vermilion toes
Relish the storm clouds it forms
Like the inky-dark clouds split by lightning
You share with me in our private bardo—you are
The scent of rain—I am parched
Almonds. My “eyes never close”
I am swooning into your childhood
Where the Milky Way floats like a silk scarf
Where you formed your gods and beat the gong
To call for golden fireflies to glitter and mate
To make me part my lips and know you await
As the rock that can be felt but not seen
in Ryoanji—about which a poet writes
Of the sand ministered to by a monk’s rake:
An archipelago is that space between jade islands
That unites us as you slip cobalt from my shoulders—
I am swooning into you with eyes of open stones
“Don’t ever stop.” Be mad with me. Be ecstasy. Be me…