Untitled Poem #2

Posted on January 31, 2023 by Simon Perchik
Simon Perchik

At the evening roll-call you yell, Here  
as if your shadow would never leave you
though not that long ago it began to lean

the way these walls gathered to grieve
were warmed around a wooden table
with its pots and plates and bowls

shining all at once where the ceiling
should be, poured from this small pitcher
half as the first morning on Earth, half

filling it with the darkness your shadow
still needs to go on alone, leave you
never sure there's a shore to rest on

close enough to watch your voice rise
circle back as an echo, louder and louder
as the Alone that lost its way.

Share on Social Media