simon perchik

untitled


All evening by itself
and weightless cradlesong
--I fill the warm sink
the way I would a bag
--there's a certain care
to dip the eyes into paper

--don't ask my why --I bathe your envelope
till a cheek falls away --I save
only the canceled seals, your letters
burning in a shallow bowl near the water

near the smoke drifting across this sink
making up new water I don't recognize
or why this useless postage stamp
is rescued --it was the sky calling out
was the eyes.

I lift this stamp to lay it down
one by one, softer than when
between the cemetery rows
and all those orderly lines
across the powerless stone and my eyes

--you send and what's left is all evening
another death :each letter
with all its heart the lullaby
about its heart, about its missing arms
--this plume in search for the disappeared
the missing stamp and glue

--you send and all night
--don't ask my why --I just let the water
--I have this fear, this passed upon
this sent out for, this martyrdom
struck, holding fast --the dead

hold fast to everything.
Only water. They want only water.
And gathering.