You kneel the way this sky never learned
those chancy turns the dirt throws back
as breezes, still warm, scented
with what’s left from when the Earth
had two centers, one blue, the other
footsteps, half-random, half-gathered in
for stones no longer moving
– you begin each descent
unsure, around and around, entangled
as if roots would nudge the dead closer
again into your arm over arm waving goodbye
with one more than the other
– it’s how you dig, folded over
and your shadow deeper and deeper
already reeks from far off and wings.
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.