You caress this dust as if it’s stuck…

You caress this dust as if it’s stuck
drains under ripples and sap though all goodbyes
keep warm in a dark lake at sunset, reek

from varnish, hunted down by small stones
by dying wood and from the rot
and enormous rain paws the scent open

the way she once stood still – the room
is familiar, shattered by lips, cheeks
– as for you it’s just another door

somehow dry, no longer the one by one
you leaned against then left behind
away from everything, both hands at once

and yours is the only loneliness still leaving
– what you smell is when she first came in
and stayed without turning her head.

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.

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