THE SWING

My weight shifts and the swing moves,
but I am on unfamilar territory.

This is your swing
built by a friend
to hang in a patch of shade
thrown by a latticed sky.

It faces a garden that blooms
only for you.
Awash with jasmine in sunlight,
the orchids and callas thrive
but miss your touch,
as does the red rose I planted for you,
as do I.

Blades of emerald green fesue
shift with the wind,
standing tall with pride
for having been planted by you
long ago.

Your dust is of the earth,
and you will return to the earth
in gardens throughout the world
to continue your journey
through my eyes.
Your passage to immortality
honored by every petal of every flower.
Their beauty touched by your essence.

Through you the earth will heal.

Through you I heal.

Through you I keep.


© JOHN PISCATELLA