You lean into this tree as if its roots
struck something made from wood
no longer moves, became an island
with mountains laid out in rows
and though they have no arms
they open them when someone
is left close by –under such a weight
their hands break apart the Earth
from feeling their way around it
grave after grave, blinded by moonlight
as the chunks you never saved
form this nearly empty night
with nothing but the bright green hole
this dying tree drains, keeps dry
between what you wanted and the shine.
— Simon Perchik
Simon Perchik is an attorney whose poems have appeared in Partisan Review, Forge, Poetry, Osiris, The New Yorker and elsewhere. His most recent collection is The Osiris Poems published by box of chalk, 2017. For more information, including free e-books and his essay titled “Magic, Illusion and Other Realities,” please visit his website at www.simonperchik.com.
Editor’s Note: Photograph of full moon through trees by John C. Mannone (March 4, 2017), enhanced with special effects.
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