O HUMMINGBIRD

O fearless hummingbird,
hovering over the canna
and the honeysuckle,
only a few hours
away from starvation
at any given moment in time.
Today is not your day to die.

I have seen your spirit before.
Your fight for survival.
The ability to remain irridescent
as the colors of the rainbow
in the heart of a storm.
Your voice of uniqueness
in a world of ordinariness
that touched time
like no other.

I have seen your spirit before,
sweet hummingbird...
her name was Florine.

If only time could fly backwards,
like you,
she would repeat on this star.
Were infinity to begin again,
with no borders
to restrain her resolve,
threads of light
from her window of life
would shine like fire in the night.

Like lightning,
her smile would be etched
upon the earth.

Her laugh, not teardrops,
would be my river.
Her voice
the sound of spring rain.

Her passion the scent
of wildflowers on the mountain;
Her rhythms, a feast to feed
my homeless heart.

Absence of her love
is the cruel cost
of promises lost
in the infinite space
between memory and time.

O hummingbird.
If only time could fly backwards,
like you.

© JOHN PISCATELLA

THE ECSTASY OF SPRING

To think
that I am here on this earth
without you
is a thought never contemplated
nor imagined.

Had I died
instead of you,
little would have changed.
The seasons
would still come and go,
wet with dew and wonderment.

You and Woodrow
would be discovering
the joy of morning
again in the garden.
The ecstasy of spring at sunrise
humming in blue-green fescue.
The tranquil canopy
of a peach tree
overflowing with pink blossoms.

I would be the only red rose
in this peach cobbler dreamscape;
A monument
to spring's last orchid,
had I perished instead of you.

I would be the polished memory,
worn smooth over time,
that is everywhere
and nowhere,
had our circumstances been reversed.

But you would be the one
my love,
entering the secret gates,
searching for deep-rooted serenity
and the ephemeral beauty
of faraway gardens.

Finding comfort in spring cherry blossoms
from Tokyo and Hakone
to Kanazawa and Kyoto.
Showering my ashes,
my celestial dust,
alongside the sweet scent of jasmine,
on earth kissed softly
by spring rains.

When visiting Mica
and her daughter Mina in Tokyo,
wondrous memories
would flood your senses
of the year she shared our lives.
Knowing that your kiss
would be my kiss,
your embrace my embrace.

Remembering always
that the stars contain me,
as do the sun
and lunar gardens.
Looking for me
in the moons of mountains,
and in the endless foam
of overlapping waves
in ancient seas.

Finding me in your heart
and your imagination,
in the timeless seasons
between our worlds.
Residing with me forever
in this purified rarity
called love.

© JOHN PISCATELLA

OUR LEGACY OF LOVE

In one enormous moment,
in the muted transparency
of predestination,
the perennial friendship
that lived
in the summer
of my heart,
disappeared
like daydreams in twilight.

The magnitude
of this vacancy,
of living for even a minute
without the sound
of your voice
or the radiance
of your smile,
touches me
beyond words and comprehension
and begs one simple
philosophical question:
Would I still be me
without you?

But truth be told,
our souls
are tied together.
Our legacy of love
is beyond dissolution
and the shapelessness
of extinction.

Heartfelt love traverses
the clenched sadness and emptiness
of a permanent void,
by-passing
the endless corridor
of unfulfilled dreams.

Even in the half-light
of darkness,
you live on my skin
and in the marrow
of my bones,
in my mouth and lips,
that taste of wine
and first and last kisses,
and in my hair,
that was impenetrable
to anything
except your soothing fingers.

Even my footsteps,
which sustain our journey,
are compelled
to wander through
an upside-down world
in the fullness
of the moment.

That's how it is
for us.
When we are written
off the page,
we will surely
be written off...
together.

© JOHN PISCATELLA