I know we must have promised
to find each other again,
But where was that promise made?
Amidst temple ruins looking out to sea
on the isle of Rhodes?
Or in a bamboo and wattle hut
to the sounds of talking drums?
Or in an incense imbued yak hair
tent sitting on carpets in Tibet?
Or was it on a morning in early May
amidst wild poppies in Tuscany?
But now as I see a pair of red-tailed hawks
Fly below my cabin
Setting sun reflecting liquid gold off tail feathers
I know it doesn’t matter
I have this one moment to taste
the warm honey of your shoulder
heated by spring sun
One moment to feel that
soft curve of your waist
To taste the sage on your hips
All these tell me of the promise
To weave our threads of light
Together…under this vast sky.
-Tsultrim Allione, Spring 2001