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Simon Perchik – Ⅰ

Five Poems 




Some fishtank motor :rain

pumping this rainbow and around the world

seas overflow –my heart


the same spiral each sky

learns to climb –all morning

sways, plunges, taking root


–only one flower will open

–years from now, alone, reading outloud

–each Sunday more funny-pages


and under the warming colors

only one looks up –rain is there

and the brightest red in the sky.







Even this tree :a stranglehold

once used for calling you and now

means the night –this low branch

still ruffling feathers

can’t recover its faint cry

its warm breeze that shelters you


now that every stone is sealed

is pressed to my lips

as if some trumpet or fountain

or filled with ecstasy

ready this time –even the sun


broken in two and now

your light darkens half the sky

glows over my arms and the moon

that can’t look away :this digging


has to stop! the tree can’t hold on

–not all its shadow will survive

–these leaves will shatter, the sun

in bits onto the ground and the neighbors

say they can’t sleep

are tired hearing about when I find you

and it’s already almost morning.







Even on the bottom sand

no one’s there to stop my fall

–the sun must know why

its needed rest will be its last


already pulling back

shaking its head no, sideways

then no, all the while downward


–must hear my heart

whose constant sparks :each wave

leads the other back, by night

two more tides

falling through the world


–must know why its light stays warm

leaning against a great wall :the sea

almost ashore, a boat suddenly

tied to the dock, the man

tracing on a name, the woman

and sandbars no one’s noticed before.







This heat still underfoot

reminds you how the sun

would come to your grave’s edge


with flowers, with a sky

whose season now is lost

and the listening


that goes on forever.

You can tell from the silence

I’m standing close, my footmarks


stopped –for a while we are both dead.

Who but you would think about daylight

how colors tire so easily here


biding their time, listening

to one foot beside the other

never letting go and the warmth.







Don’t act surprised.

After the funeral I entered your house

from the roof, even the sink

was turned on its side, the faucets

still leak –who, let alone you


is buried on a wall

–your wedding photograph framed

old, homesick and you

wait facing the door

the constant open and closing.


Believe it! Your coffin

has more glass than wood.

What did I think you would see?

How close the rooms are?


That they still huddle? The cold too

has taken shelter, longing

to stand upright, to leave with you

young again, and on your strong shoulders

hammers and boards and the tuxedo

just perfect! any minute now

returns with your bride

with the feast and on its knees

spilling over the dead.


Believe everything. This face cloth

as if the clear glass means something new

and your cheeks bathed by water

that never stops asking –this rag

and from my hands enough light

to warm the black-red flower

hardened on your lapel.