Untitled
// Simon Perchik
Palms up, you’re used to winter
as the sound not yet these rocks
breaking off between one clearing
and the other — you already know
what’s to come, pull up
the way piece by piece still remembers
the first snow and now the Earth
keeps everything to itself
though what you lift is always cold
starting over, filling each stone
by hand, further and further
almost in two and frail.