by Best Poem
This plaque and over the fireplace
a waterfall :behind the sky-writing
its banner smoking –everything waves
till all that’s left is the blind spot
a barren ache, an iron gong
though you still heat this room
with marksmanship and armor
with gunpowder whose wings
spread across all wings
–in the distance a door closes.
You knock till your name and rank
and knuckles bleed :so much rust
as if some fossil still flying
will escape, your hands barely visible
still on the controls when it happened.
Simon Perchik is an attorney whose poems have appeared in Partisan Review, The New Yorker, and elsewhere. Rafts (Parsifal Editions) is his most recent collection. For more information, including his essay “Magic, Illusion and Other Realities” and a complete bibliography, please visit his website.