Together with your knees

already half hands

--even the sky is lessened


lets this rain speak for two

the way stars leave you

--you come too close


and though you whisper

the dirt collapses, cools

till no one can escape


except their darkness

and the distance

that is not rain, that clings


tightens, makes from your voice

each cry smaller and smaller

back into your arms.












apocryphaltext Vol. 2, Nos. 2 & 3


24 poems by simon perchik