Simon Perchik
*
This gauze again and again
till bleeding is no longer needed
--he straps my arm
and its long stillness--even these flowers
leave to return and without a sound
my lips red from somewhere
they never find again--I can forget
everything--this doctor
must be a garden, dark trees
that haunt the doorway
--he leans over my arm
as though he hears for the first time
a creek clear enough to drink, stares
into a single, human shadow
the sun will never reach again.