There is skin even the sky…

There is skin even the sky
seeps through–both arms
weighted down though you

are flying through dirt
and under this faucet
hear it clouding over

already hillside and grass
–you listen for water
broken apart by the handfuls

making room, falling behind
in streams not yet the gravel
covering your forehead

as if this water itself
was still in pain, chased
and the soap too heavy.

Simon Perchik is an attorney whose poems have appeared in Partisan Review, The Nation, Poetry, Osiris, The New Yorker, and elsewhere. His most recent collection is Almost Rain, published by River Otter Press (2013). For more information, free e-books and his essay titled “Magic, Illusion and Other Realities”, please visit his website at http://www.simonperchik.com.

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