Each child as the moon
        still clinging to its mother
        --already your closed eyes
        hang like rain: lodestars
        drinking the Earth weightless
        and Death with each wet breath
        grows wider than sunlight
        than the eyes lying down next to you.

        Sleep. Your heart gets loose
        to cry by itself. But not far.
        Not the Flood still warm
        left and right from your crib: a bridge
        is the only place for this moon

        --kisses help
        leaning over as if my lips
        were covered with the river
        only Death can carry off in its mouth
        like the light flowing through your heart
        the first song you heard, asleep
        and will look for everywhere.

        Sleep. A beautiful face
        will break your arm in half
        wider and wider, the bones
        singing, drying your lips
        as if they were being born and Death
        whose face is so strong

        will try too. Sleep. Get to know
        your dark, how to sniff for moonlight
        in the afternoon, in your sleep
        that's still in one piece.

Copyright © Simon Perchik, 2004. All Rights Reserved.