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          All the pieces must be found
          By Simon Perchik

          All the pieces must be found, make
          a list, a proper burial
          --when you fold the paper
          you send ahead some moonlight --start
          with the formal Dear: a fine suit
          helps when you ask directions --start out

          as if you too will lose the way
          will soon be hungry
          though you sit at a table --now
          while you can still lift your hand
          to your forehead, to the fire
          that knows once underground
          how heavy names become, harden
          and the stones crowded together in a well
          that never comes back --use ink

          slowly, like a mourner --your list
          followed --the dirt too
          bent back and forth, wears out
          politely, with manners --you send ahead
          and from your sheet its light
          crumpled, dried
          and the longing for some hiding place.


          © Copyright 2004, Simon Perchik, All Rights Reserved




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Document last modified on: 01/06/2007

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