Simon Perchik


The breeze almost extinct
–these few leaves
the last, their plume
moves slowly :planes all afternoon
saw a fire looking up
and wanted it remembered

on stone :this sky
as every wall is painted
offered caves, ornaments, birds
–is still the messenger, takes up
our notices, our posters –we ask the wall

to ask and someone we're not allowed to hear
or see or stone by stone brings down
the lasting answer –the wall

says we're told to weep
face up, retrieve :each breath
passed around till its heart
remembers, tries to fly again through stone

and the sky again breaks apart
as ashes still harden
what falls from their fire :this slow breeze

each day heavier
struggles to return upwards the leaves
those two planes are burning.