[It knows nothing about the others], Simon Perchik

Laurie Doctor, Moonrise (Detail),
Oil and Wax on Wood Panel


It knows nothing about the others
smelling from feathers though you
stop inching up, tucked between

the nearest candle and its happiness
–after coming this close you’re locked
in place and continents stay dark

–it’s impossible to strike a match
as if some invisible arm went down
scraping against an oversized box

unwilling to take the chance
–so certain is this cake it makes
a second pass, open to small flowers

ones running from you at night
afraid to put on the lights, that become
cities, pieces and in your mouth

never lose heart –every year
each has a day to itself and you
blow out what’s left and motionless.

Simon Perchik

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