Art and poetry on page and stage
10
Simon Perchik
*
Faster then faster
this gate
gaining the advantage, crouches
the way skaters surround their arms
and around these dead
clinging to stone and mornings
-by instinct the fence
slides your hand closer
touches your sleeves
as marble and rapture
-even without this breeze
you're used to the sky
pulling you in, smaller and smaller
as if the Earth stopped before
let its dirt fall away, open
not yet from behind.
*
Whatever you soften
it's the dirt
that starts though your lips
touch down and try again
counting off the hours
just now learning to mimic
rain -in time
you will smooth the ground
better than before, for years
talking babytalk -have to
-this rain is not yet
what it wanted
and all the way down
you practice the way stones
are surrounded by dew
no longer whispers and places.