Simon Perchik

 

 

 

*

This bird must hear the blood
all day nesting in its gut
slit open to catch rainwater

draining some roof the way your hand
dries from the balcony half feathers
half seaweed it listens

for waves, each one now motionless
bending over the other
two deaths from one botched egg

though there are no leaves to fall
to gather more sky for the flight back
and you are singing alone, slow

getting the words wrong
caressing its belly with the same breeze
now bathing it you rinse the blade

still sharpening itself on its shadow
back and forth till the sea
no longer reflects just one sky

stranded, unshapely a monster
covered with wings already stone
clinging to you even over water.

     

Copyright 2004 Simon Perchik.  All Rights Reserved.

 

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