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Simon Perchik

This gauze again and again
till bleeding is no longer needed
—he straps my arm and its stillness

—even these flowers leave to return
and without a sound my lips
red from somewhere

—I can forget everything
—this doctor must be a garden
dark trees that haunt each doorway

lean over my arm
as though they hear
for the first time a creek

clear enough to drink, stare
into a single, human shadow
the sun will never reach again.

Simon Perchik

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