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by Simon Perchik

Not just for winter the sky
carries off everything in its path
—place to place broken off

as if these small stones are sure
the dead will wait for them
though they remember

only distances with no one
to look through the ice
at the birds frozen midair

still expecting your arms
to loosen inch by inch
from among the others.


Simon Perchik is an attorney whose poems have appeared in Partisan Review, The New Yorker, and elsewhere. His poetry collections Family of Man (Pavement Saw Press) and Rafts (Parsifal Editions) are scheduled for publication this year. (6/2007)

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