Simon Perchik

*

You will whisper the way rivers
still break away from the continent
--mouths appear and words
never alone before, already far off

--the kiss will be brackish
making a dam, then another and my lips
against the sky backing up
--even at noon, overflowing with moonlight.

You will leave and the moon
still gasping from fright
--just born and it already cries out
from a darkness that has no air

the way each child learns the sound
that will fill its heart with distance
and the soft wingbeats
flying downstream--everything you say

will say goodbye--from deep inland
your mouth toward its first damp breath
then another: waves pulling apart
in all directions, kiss after lifeless kiss.