Simon Perchik - four poems
These gravestones are shaped the way every avalanche wants to enter the Earth –first as a single doorstep then the rush though the rocks you listen for are already moons helping you find the door for holding on while the light under you becomes another shadow made from wood lays down as a room that cannot change its mind is filled with cracked lips, the cold and end over end the strong corners, the kisses that made it here. Your face is covered with paper now held in place by its words for sky and wind –a simple love note can keep the rain away let you read forever in the dark though it tastes from the salt still on your lips –all those years soaking up this hillside till nothing was left to open except over your cheeks you have all the air you need in the corners not yet grass. You sleep with the coat buttoned and though your eyes are closing the sleeves cling by listening sure her favorite dress is somewhere in this room no longer morning, name