Even the colors are anxious, carried
as if its new home above ground
would skimp the way all rows use dirt
cut in two with nothing in between
–you suddenly bring it a darkness
use one hand to comfort the other
though you’ve done all this before
have no faith in mornings :clumps
that want only to forget, just lie still
holding one end close, for a long time
sorted out and unfamiliar fields
taken place to place in flowers
in ribbons, string, thread, something
feeble, tied to the dissolving Earth
by this shadow and your arms.
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 www.simonperchik.com.