This wall and sunlight

hiding under the faded wallpaper

though its flowers no longer move


--a single 3X5 snapshot

brings the room down

in flames and further off


the rickety wooden frame

smelling from corners

already broken open


lifted alongside in pieces

and the glass in pieces

holds you closer, closer


and your chest keeps warm

--it alone left standing

as if the wall you don’t use anymore


could recognize the place

without getting lost, or your voice

or the arms next to her.








apocryphaltext Vol. 2, Nos. 2 & 3


24 poems by simon perchik