Although the stove never moves…

Although the stove never moves
you add on the way roots
have learned to sleep

where it’s warm – this kitchen
is still expanding, the pots
further apart with no end to it

can already set your hands
on fire – what you touch
are the stars pulling one wall

from the others, boiling
in a darkness that is not water
and slowly they reach the floor

the way light will lower its speed
pace itself so when it finally arrives
you hear nothing but its soft cry

no longer distances – what you extend
is the same heat your arms
are made from, wider and wider

held in place as if the sun
has forgotten how and withers
side by side, too cold, too small.

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

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