Simon Perchik

*

Who knows, with his mouth wide
--nightmares are so huge
--they risk the thirsty
who want always some rescue
and meaning from the ground--open

and his lips carried
as if their river had left
still saying goodbye
still hugging the empty dirt--asleep

who knows why a dream
will come with a grievance
break open his skull
just to yell and thrash around
because his jaw was slack, too slow
tried hide how the dead
close their lips, are spared.

It does no good to imitate stone
or the soft cry lost in a well
--night after night coming back
and his mouth darker than ice

--who knows! you only see the teeth
the man losing himself
in a great sea filled with frenzy
--jaws full throattle and in his belly
cold air, sharp rocks--by morning

something that sounds like waves
will fall between his words for food
--he will bathe his arms
the way those birds in the parks
fly into the redeeming wind
into that torrent pulling them upward
--he will reach outside
as if there was a bench
a fountain, some crumbs.