Simon Perchik

[Again a calendar, each page]

Again a calendar, each page
is burying you in the sea
that races past your forehead

with only your hands for shoreline
and one year more
–by nailing it to this wall

you agree not to forget
and fast, go hungry :trust
will return, already draining the light

from the sun, sprinkling its warmth
not yet those old love songs
choking louder and louder

as days, weeks, wing beats
and from this heavy paper
an overwhelming joy

–it will happen, embraced by circles
and fresh scented shining blades
–you will lean into this wall

become branches and leaves
that are not yet smoke
though month after month

stay close, want to be lifted
remembered as the dotted line
the promised, no longer falling.

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Simon Perchik’s poetry has appeared in Partisan Review, The Nation, The New Yorker and elsewhere.