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