The glare this plate thins out
eats the way each star
tells you it’s still alone
though rim to rim you bring
a rain smelling from a narrow road
holding down the Earth
till everything is dirt and she
is sitting at a table, asks you
to hold her hand, childlike, fill it
lets you swallow the afternoon
even she will remember, your lips
circling down in flames and hunger.
Simon Perchik is an attorney whose poems have appeared in Partisan Review, Forge, Poetry, Osiris, The New Yorker and elsewhere. His most recent collection is The B Poems, published by Poets Wear Prada, 2016. 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.