A LESSON FROM MY LOVE

In paralytic, self-absorbed moments
among shadows and crushed dreams,
I feel like I have been abandoned.

What sustains me in this empty space
is knowing that
I am not in pure darkness
or powerless at the crossroads.

I look out of my self as
the light of her star
continues to gleam,
her dust dancing in sunlight,
encircling me
from morning to dusk,
anchoring me with her spirit
and timeless footsteps.

I am neither master of my emotions
nor immobilized in a land of clouds;
I am resilient...
and keep from drifting
by listening to echoes
from a distant place and time.

My affinity for self-preservation
and joy is not only intact,
it is woven into my fabric,
strengthening at the mere thought
of her smile.

I am incapable of abandoning myself.

That...is a lesson from my love,
and all I have learned from her...
is remembered.

© JOHN PISCATELLA

EVERYTHING AND NOTHING

The light that shines from a life,
a life of inexplicable value,
neither dims nor brightens,
it endures...
unembellished...
fixed in the cracks of time
in perpetual slow motion.

I see everything and nothing
at the same time,
awake or asleep,
pulled between shadow and dream...
Never unmoving.

Swimming
between the ocean and the moon...
I am alone,
but never by myself.

I drink her water
and breathe her air.
I taste her smile
with each breath.

I hear her laughter
in the stony silence...

And I am home.

© JOHN PISCATELLA

THE CHANGING RHYTHM OF LIFE

Only her face could fill the void,
but this is my life now,
the beginning of the beginning,
and I have to will myself
not to focus on how alone I am
but how lucky I am to be able
to smell the colors
of another day.

I am easily immersed in the perpetual
silent reminders of what was, but
like a spider webbing a path to the future,
I am sustained by what is
along with a mysterious instinct
for self-preservation.

Suddenly at daybreak
I am pulled into her orbit
by the sound of the wild parrots she so loved
flying overhead, synchronized but free,
screaming in the silence of the wind,
melting into the morning sun.

If, like me, they journeyed
in a rare northwesterly direction,
they would have penetrated the silence
of the immovable sky above Henderson Bay
in enchanting Gig Harbor.

To my amazement,
for a fleeting moment
at daylight
in a stillness of motion,
a bald eagle caressed the sky
above me
in search of breakfast
for her family
perched in a nest across the bay
high above Raft Island.

Such joy to not only witness the circle of life
but to be absorbed in it,
drifting away from my self
to another place in another time...

but as quickly as the changing tide,
joy can drift into sorrow
and the cries of desperation
I heard during the night
between sleep and dreams
were those of the mother
of the lifeless baby seal
that washed up on shore
to lie at my feet
in the stony quiet.

The rhythm of life keeps changing
and reshaping itself
and I am here
at the pleasure
of the momentary hands of time.

This I learned in the summer of her smile.

© JOHN PISCATELLA

IF YOU NEVER KNEW MY FLORINE

Soon after we met,
I cut to the chase.
I took Florine to meet her.

There was a diabolical method
to my madness.
Meet her,
and be introduced
to me again
for the first time,
and want more.
Know her,
and she would want to know me forever.

It wasn't fair,
but I offer no apology.
This was seduction on a grand scale.
I was smitten, and Florine was predestined.

With a wave of her wooden spoon,
my mother Mary,
Mom to my brother and me,
Mrs P. to my friends,
stirred the sauce as meatballs danced
through green shadows of basilico
to the bubbling echoes of Italy
foaming in a river
red with enchantment,
drenched in history and mystery.

My mother,
a lady of grace and dignity,
was a mother to all
who were in need
of unending tenderness
from a tranquil heart.

Few were exempt
from the quiet strength that encircled her,
like peaceful shade
on a cloudless afternoon.
Florine was no exception,
and neither was I.

She was enthralled
by my mother's many charms,
and my mother was equally captivated
by this amazing woman
whose purity of spirit
did not arrive unnoticed.

We came into our own that day;
we were connected...
and our destiny was changed forever.
We knew each other now,
and would never be complete
with anyone else.

I have a lingering sadness for those
who never had the priviledge
of knowing my mother,
but the best of me is a reflection of her,
and those who know me,
know her.

But for those friends to come,
who never walked and talked
with my Florine, who were never
branded by a smile that shone like fire,
or a laugh that rose from her soul
and pulsed in the wind...

I look forward to knowing you,
but if you never knew my Florine,
you will never truly know me.

You will never know me.

© JOHN PISCATELLA

MEETING

She floated by my desk
like a hummingbird weaving from flower to flower,
reconquering space in slow motion,
then vanishing like a dream at daybreak.

She wore a mini skirt
and owned a smile
that made pupils dilate
and hearts break.
Her laugh splashed of happiness
and bursts of pure joy,
like the morning mist of Victoria Falls
as it disappeared in the filtered light
of an endless African sky.

Like the leopard or the house cat,
she was sculpted in a total state of completion,
requiring neither additions nor deletions...
She was pefection...
in an imperfect world.

She was just twenty-one.

She worked like she walked,
like an effortless gust of wind
blowing over the dunes of Namibia
from morning to dusk,
stopping only once ...
to look in my direction.


Until that infinite moment of tenderness,
I was lost in my own center...
But on that day,
I was driven to look for more.
On that day,
I not only found religion,
I unearthed nirvana...

and I prayed.



© JOHN PISCATELLA