These stones still anxious, sip
stuttering as if they had no surfaces
or shoreline—syllable by syllable
you gather them up, not sure
they can bring the dead closer
though this sill is already wet
reaching out the way its paint
covers the Earth with a darkness
brought together piece then pieces
breathless, buckling and uncounted
—you bathe these stones in a broth
broken open, flowing to a stop.
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, including free e-books and his essay titled “Magic, Illusion and Other Realities”, please visit his website at http://www.simonperchik.com.