SOMEWHERE IN CHINA

Like a character
in a play,
I am a fragment
of my memory.

As the day
draws new images
on nomadic canvases,
I sculpt galleries
of timeless faces
in the motionless spaces
between entering and leaving
the unmistakable transparency
of an unknown world
as beautiful as the moon.

Listening with my eyes
to the essence
beneath the surface
of every turn,
from nowhere
to somewhere
in China,
I exchange secrets
and sweet memories
with the poetry
of the streets
and the words
in my pen.

Like threads
from which it was woven,
we are all a part
of the same blanket
that covers the earth
and warms
miles and miles
of infinite smiles
with a trickle of sweetness,
like jasmine
in a summer garden.

This is a world
of exquisite warmth
that is mine
for a little while
before I hear her voice
among the angels.

© JOHN PISCATELLA