[You cover one eye, upset]

[You cover one eye, upset]

You cover one eye, upset
though sunlight means nothing now
and against your cheek some mother

strokes her child –you praise half
and what’s left spends the night
the way all wounds begin

as a single touch then end
broken apart under the same wind
birds use for a home

and every morning more sleep
is needed, more darkness, returned
as if it had its beginnings here

is touching down, adored
by one hand held out, the other
no longer moving or found.


Simon Perchik‘s poetry has appeared in Partisan Review, The Nation, The New Yorker and elsewhere.

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