WHEN I SEE HIM...I SEE YOU

He sleeps in temporary stillness
between the flowers and the fescue
in the muted shade of her peach tree,
no longer remembered
for summer fruit
produced with persistent splendor
or for her cobbler
that defied the imagination,
but for the graceful, sculpted form now revealed
as the spent leaves float to the earth,
one by one,
to another season
and another time.

Or, you may find him
reclined on my desk,
sleeping on papers
that used to be important,
but no longer have meaning
when compared to the significance of his company.
Resting his head gently on her laptop,
his paws draped on the keyboard,
he compells a single letter
to echo across the screen,
in search of absolutely nothing
except the present moment.

Just like my Florine,
even when motionless,
my cat, Woodrow,
is like a ballet dancer
floating over a stage,
owning not only the spotlight,
but the audience and the air.

We named him,
but no man owns him...
as no man owned her...
both complete in nature,
both creators of self esteem,
both bastions of emotional honesty.

He is an enigma...
she is my dream...
and I am priviledged
to visit both at the same time.

Woodrow is my bridge to old memories,
to another life and another time.
When I see him...

I see her...

elegant in solitude,
worthy of consummate love,
intelligent and courageous,
exquisite in heart and spirit.

When I see him...

I see Florine...

I see a masterpiece.


© JOHN PISCATELLA