Art and poetry on page and stage

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10

Simon Perchik

*

      Faster then faster
this gate
           
    gaining the advantage, crouches
           
    the way skaters surround their arms

           
    and around these dead
           
    clinging to stone and mornings
           
    -by instinct the fence

           
    slides your hand closer
           
    touches your sleeves
           
    as marble and rapture

           
    -even without this breeze
           
    you're used to the sky
           
    pulling you in, smaller and smaller

           
    as if the Earth stopped before
           
    let its dirt fall away, open
           
    not yet from behind.

*

    Whatever you soften
it's the dirt
           
    that starts though your lips
           
    touch down and try again

           
    counting off the hours
           
    just now learning to mimic
           
    rain -in time

           
    you will smooth the ground
           
    better than before, for years
           
    talking babytalk -have to

           
    -this rain is not yet
           
    what it wanted
           
    and all the way down

           
    you practice the way stones
           
    are surrounded by dew
           
    no longer whispers and places.

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