Five Poems by Simon Perchik, 10-9-2013
*
To calibrate this stone
you break the sun just so
part shoreline, part darkness
where the Earth survives
by holding on to your shadow
as if it had no mouth
and what you hear are seabirds
covered with cries that circle
as rain and dust and nightfall
--it's an ancient gesture
half salt, half waves
and nothing inside the stone
that can reach so far
yet you let it drop
with an undisguised precision
that blows open your fingers
and one stone toward another
that is not the sea
not the grass among these flowers
nothing, not the overcast all night
falling from some woman's dress
and you can't hear it raining.
*
And though the snow still clings
smelling from breasts
--you are afraid sit down
stop short the way your mouth
no longer spreads its devouring glow
changes into water, then winter
then cups your hand
squeezing the sky into ice
then darkness --you dread
this breathing out loud
till it becomes fragrant
and lets the skin over your lips
listen as flowers
while your arms fill with arms
that are not yours, are covered
with shallow river water
flowing past you as moonlight
and this snow feeding the ground
on loneliness and mornings
already dead, shaping the Earth
fitting it deep into your throat
for the cry falling toward you
as kisses, as oceans, then skies
--you never had a chance.
*
And now it's the sun
oozing, remembers
how these flowers
for the first time
stayed long enough
to grow a fragrance
though all you smell
are the stones
still cooling :a dark mist
imbedded forever
in ashes longing for rain
the way a consuming wound
still begins with a valley
and hillsides closing in
--you can't move
let these lingering stones
drip from your fingers
that have become a single hand
holding out a single hand
left open, trembling
dropping the Earth into pieces
and why not? you dead
need more stones
armfuls! more, more, more.
*
And for the first time, begins
till even today all water
longs to escape with the sun
the way the dead have been taught
and once on shore
wait for the waves to open again
as flowers smelling from salt
and lips and readiness
--it's not by accident
blood at the slightest chance
will run away
though not every wound
can be traced back to the sharp turn
and circling down into stones
by the mouthfuls --you taste a sea
stained by faraway nights
and teeth then loneliness
and not one star is spared
--by morning the throbbing
is at home in your heart
brings it closer and closer
as if a sister sun, not yet visible
rises inside the months, years, oceans
and what you carry off
is the silence they once were
silent and covered with smoke
no longer struggling or grass.
*
Between two fingers the dirt
still greets these dead
coming by with open eyes
then rain that can't hold on
--this strange handshake
over and over warms your arm
though the sun fell short
missing the Earth
the way a hillside stops growing
if no one touches it
as flowers whose colors
can no longer remember
or face this arm
the one you bring too near
chosen for its memory
its power and sound.