Volume 27, Number 3


It’s not your usual watering can
emptied the way an arch
waits for the sun to come or go

—side to side into a distant sea
whose mending power
will cover the Earth again

though there’s no tide yet
only the at-hand drift
you find in bones at night

longing for harbor to harbor
and sleep —you spray
inch by inch :each dose

half darkness, half overtaking
half while the disappearing wave
begins its cure.

—Simon Perchik