Her body traced, the grass
        as blades still thrill the circus crowds
        --she doubles-up his thin blindfold :asleep
        he trains her arms to fold in time

        --it's a living these two, she hugs
        and he goes along, the lawn
        kept bristling and applause.
        The wall that lost its way
        moves closer but her arms are full.

        Her back to the ground
        honeycombed for strength :every grave
        is stuffed with a bottom
        pretending not to hear and he
        practices to dream.

        All afternoon and my camera
        --one finger to restart the world, this time
        hollowed out like a mine :the film
        has no sunlight or weight

        --he's used to it, each breath
        clinging to his thumb and she
        a thousand fingers humming on his

        --one afternoon! and my blood
        changing color as if there was a season Afternoon
        was grass slowly sharpening :the sky
        closer and closer, was a child leaning over
        crushing the hard ground with sleep
        with a finger, a knife and shadows.

Copyright © Simon Perchik, 2005. All Rights Reserved.