To live like that, listening
as the sudden dive to the bottom
and though your mouth longs for a sea
death happens wherever water goes
–you hear the rain passing by
with shells and salt flaking off
from a dress that is still new
covered with moss and grieving
–you slip your hand through
as if each sleeve over and over
is filled with moss not yet blossoming
where the branches at the top
dig themselves in, opening the Earth
and the small stones that are your lips
filled with falling and thirst.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 19, Issue 1.
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). Visit www.simonperchik.com.
See all items about Simon Perchik
