From the same glass

--it’s the risk they take

jumpy, out in the open


the way a puddle, to this day

ices over, survives the winter

as one hand uneasy with another


--you drink from a glass

too heavy, half frost, half

water that keeps its voice


safe, no longer in some stream

listening for more water

though you drown holding on


to your favorite glass

that no longer remembers you

or better days.







apocryphaltext Vol. 2, Nos. 2 & 3


24 poems by simon perchik