*
Each step closer, your coffin
crack open as if a great weight
and these flowers sweeter than your hair
--one step more and the Earth
just learning to arch
to rise from a time no one wept
and you are standing, your eyes
filled with seas lost long ago
--I walk with nothing you can hear
or hold together --your small boat
will splinter and under my heel
the rocks can't leave either
--one foot learning to fly
while this ground crawls to safety
--one step more, overhead
coming to an end, folds its wings
diving against your heart
against the darkness growing from this spot.
Even the stars expect your nightfall
your hand held out, By now
your flowers and planking.
*
It has nothing to do with Braille
or when my fingers
strike that soft flutter
housepainters learn to grip
--my hands as if this ladder
and I am rushed upward
--what you hear are the words
birds restore --you hear the height
--it has nothing to do with height
drifting off with other cries
till my eyes catch fire
--you hear the darkness
the ladder leans against, each rung
held close :your name all evening
calling you here and the trembling.
*
I still believe all flame is brittle
THIS SIDE UP and guard it
and here the beach
here soldiers once :this sand
torn open, red-hot, face down
watches --this ocean
pulled and further back the weeds
still trying to climb out
sniffing my tongue
and HANDLE WITH CARE.
I believe you dead
are waving to one another
--the ocean hand over hand
fills, is overflowing
--from my mouth a rain
head back, so gentle
you don't hear it fall
or your beautiful lips.
Simon Perchik is an attorney whose poems have appeared in Partisan Review, The New Yorker, and elsewhere. Readers interested in learning more are invited to read Magic, Illusion and Other Realities at www.geocities.com/simonthepoet which site lists a complete bibliography.