Untitled, London Bellman
*
And now it’s the sun
oozing, remembers
how these flowers
for the first time
stayed long enough
to grow a fragrance
though all you smell
are the stones
still cooling :a dark mist
imbedded forever
in ashes longing for rain
the way a consuming wound
still begins with a valley
and hillsides closing in
–you can’t move
let these lingering stones
drip from your fingers
that have become a single hand
holding out a single hand
left open, trembling
dropping the Earth into pieces
and why not? you dead
need more stones
armfuls! more, more, more.
_________________
Simon Perchik