Read Poetry: JUNE 26, 2015 by Felice Picano

Had he lived
would we be celebrating
our momentous today
or simply let it go
having had it, lived it
for ourselves so long?
Not ever requiring
The officious,
official authentication.

Would the sidewalk
revelers we do not stop
to embellish, recall
that evening’s evening star
kiss a crescent moon
and splashily silver the plaza?:
the Chilean pianist’s final,
near-silent, pianissimo —
in c minor: astonished
to hear our wild applause
–so deep in meditation?

Had he lived
would palm and frond and fern and cedar
be spiny pine and elder alder
rimed icy tight?
And night’s aromas not be
soft Hollywood honeysuckle
but copper nasal hot
as sunsets on the Hudson
still stupefy and hurt?

Had he lived
would his photo’s face be replaced
by one that’s less familiar?
like that infrequent, five a.m.
r.e.m image
that makes me wake up in wonder
and feel blessed all day long?
No mirage — I swear —
but across that Wild Divide,
a kind of true communication . . .

Had he lived?

© 2018, Felice Picano
.

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