John Biscello

Remember me

to the

ease of light,

its pause and passage,

we are not long

for this earth,

which swallows us,

and our lovetagged bones,

as a matter of natural course

and radical recomposition,

all the gifts,

and hopes unwound

like a carnival of kites

in a ghostfaced sky,

must be returned,

it is part of the deal,

the equalizer that rivets

the wonder wheel

to its own cyclical surge

and motion,

and I, bearing the privilege

of passenger,

for what amounts to a split second

between God’s inhale

and exhale,

cannot help but air

my epitaph,

with the utmost gratitude

and reverence,

for every dream that held me

bated and green,

for every sweetness and sorrow

that carved my interior

into a well-lighted cathedral,

where basking became my truest art

and devotion.

Photo by Josef Sudek