VOICES OF THE SAME POETRY

I might never begin
to begin to envision
infinite absence,
where
never and forever
return
like the dew
of a dawn
on my
day after day.

Silently evaporating
between
the silvery mist
underneath
the morning sun
and the variegated shadows
of merging memories
is a rare passion
that tantalized time
when timeless sweet things
were the simmering half
of a smoldering whole.

You lived your soul
as I live mine,
deeply intertwined,
like tendrils
on a garden wall.

But like a tea rose
that knows
it is not a floribunda,
I bloom alone
for you and me
on a single stem
with a solitary heart.

Everything that touched you
touches me,
like voices
of the same poetry
that carry me to you
beyond goodbyes and ashes
and the irresistible rhythm
of a wavering moon.

© JOHN PISCATELLA