Simon Perchik
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*
You button this shirt
the way doves break free
and the magician bows
–begin by reaching in
though the applause even now
is darkening on a calendar
that has no mornings
no secret place was saved
for the sleeve half fleece
half dripping oil –your sweat
louder and louder
covered with rain from the 40s.
*
You come by as if this dirt was once
the ceiling, thankful on small apartments
though these dead at the last minute
open the doors alone
and from each room the great cry
already smells from rock and avalanche
–you listen for flowers though these handfuls
could make the difference
the walls the faces and echoes.
*
Even in the dark
your shadow is slipping away
covering the floor with rain
and what’s saved once the night
overflows –hold me! put a stop
to arms that are not arms
no longer can close the door
from so far off, nothing
though you cling to a board
that has no one inside to bury
is clenched between your teeth
and the black coat dragged
by water, by this single window
for hours circling to come down
look for glass and the others.
*
Not lace –a saucer
and this table spreading out
overflows the way stars
are cooled, made feeble
need to be lifted from under
as if any rim kept shallow
would spiral down
let you enter the turn
at floodstage and shoreline
–a lens! and its stench
brings your mouth closer
can be seen opening
covering your face, sealing it
with this small dish :a distant sore
coming unraveled, leaves nothing
to chance, expects your lips to go in
kiss it, drink it, stretch it
enough to reach its skim and heal.
*
These windows know all about lakes
hiding among the dead –by instinct
the glass freezes, just so
and slowly you carve two initials
as if the name underneath
would follow the way a small hole
heats the ice, lures the fish closer
taking hold though the glare
is already marshland, drains
where one finger let go
the other and the room fills
counts on you to come.
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Simon Perchik is an attorney whose poems have appeared in Partisan Review, The Nation, Poetry, The New Yorker, and elsewhere. His most recent collection is Almost Rain, published by River Otter Press (2013). For more information, including free e-books, his essay titled “Magic, Illusion and Other Realities” please visit his website at www.simonperchik.com.