Public Republic

Simon Perchik

Photo: trialsanderrors

What you hear is one winter
to another, heads or tails
one side staggering
the other moving closer
though it will rain soon –midair

the way you clip some dazzling jewel
and your dress blossom
while you are still inside
covered with snow, the sun
half struggling, half underwater
toward the ice that will drink it all

–you hear drop by jagged drop
pinned to the ground
as if I could wait for Spring
could gather up my footsteps
all night breaking apart
darting into small hole
left out in the open, in this cup

that stays cold no matter how many times
my lips and year after year
though what you hear are the stars
who know only voices and darkness
who come by with flowers
with this cavernous empty cup
you can stare at now
think about daytime and returning.