Untitled Suite, 5

They have no second thoughts
and still your footprints
inch by inch, gradually

made whole the way this shovel
lost its taste for dirt
carries in only snowfall

leaves its own reason at home
for a room that stays
close by, becomes those skies

one by one, done for, dives
on every path night first
–you dig for worms

as if one would tell you
or show you, or move your hand
or with the light off

a kamikaze cry for light
–you have no return
and step by step no morning.

Untitled Suite, 1
Untitled Suite, 2
Untitled Suite, 3
Untitled Suite, 4

Simon Perchik is an attorney whose poems have appeared in Partisan Review, The New Yorker, Poetry, The Nation, Southern Humanities Review, and elsewhere. For more information, including his essay, “Magic, Illusion and Other Realities,” visit his website at www.simonperchik.com.