By Simon Perchik


Branching out and this hillside

bit by bit unraveling

the way your shadow keeps to itself

just by darkening, fed the dirt

you once could see through

as if nothing was there to hum

then swallow some old love song

that came into the world

facing the ground still trying

to leave you and night after night

you listen for these smaller

then smaller stones eating alone

as the cry forever struggling

from its harsh stranglehold

to keep up, side by side and stay.


New York-based poet Simon Perchick’s poetry has also appeared in Partisan Review, The Nation, The New Yorker and elsewhere.





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