red booth
review

Each boat lowing, the waves
graze darker, darker 
as if my canvas shoes were used to bells
to this dock eating its damp rot
its arms and legs

--you would toss your hair
push away from your eyes
their green between each wave.
Is it three hours or three days?

You never wrote and someone I should know
is opening a letter, come by sea
by tears whose bottom sand
is covered with storms and under my heart
a birdcall becomes in time a stone
a shepherd's hush held to my lips

--I am wading into these breakers
for the darkness that seals
as a tree still licking its bark
opened by mistake --I am slowly

into your eyes, each step
a still warm leaf sent off
opening into skies
into foothills and your eyes.
 
 
 
 

- Simon Perchik