The Maynard
Spring 2016

Simon Perchik


Shielding your lips this stone
knows all about winds
living in caves, began

as dust then kept in place
neither mornings or kisses
though there’s still the pieces

a grave here, here more and you
trying to remember how dirt
became your cheeks, caressed

as if rain is just another word
—your only sky left in the open
for its handfuls and hidden flowers

that have forgotten how to breathe
are devouring the mud, mountains
and this ritual water swept away.