by Simon Perchik
Using both hands now, this bulb
flickering the way goldfish
reckless in the inflammable water
--this clouded bulb is dangerous
without a name --I call its light
Old Blue and the Earth just beginning
is cooled by firestones
that would become rainwater
--I call this lamp Smoke
play it safe, a second name
alongside the other :my hands
filled with light
even before there were eyes
before fingers would beg for curvature
and the watchful hand on my forehead
--I close my eyes :a fast
to allow my skull --the change
is so slow --there never was enough room
for the eyes, for the tears
the storm after storm --you dead
are always thirsty and I can't fix
this throwaway bulb, throwaway light
--I just give it two names
and more darkness, wait for you
near these loving candles, loving matches
and the glass cage with still more water
locked in as if one explosion more
would lay open another sun
and this ice into a clear stream
into your brief happiness.
Simon Perchik is an attorney whose poems have appeared in Partisan Review, The New Yorker, and elsewhere. Readers interested in learning more are invited to read Magic, Illusion and Other Realities at www.geocities.com/simonthepoet which site lists a complete bibliography
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