Plane after plane

Plane after plane till all the pieces
arrive as flowers—it’s winter
returning now to nest and every morning

begins with an ancient chill
unfolding over and over for lift
and mountains though you take hold

try to escape its turbulence
—against all odds you become a breeze
are losing altitude, your voice slows

then stalls, spins and the scent
falls against your chest as snow
that stays in one place and waits

Simon Perchik‘s poetry has appeared in Partisan Review, The Nation, The New Yorker and elsewhere. He lives in East Hampton, NY. His most recent collection is Almost Rain, published by River Otter Press (2013). For more information, including free e-books, and his essay titled “Magic, Illusion and Other Realities,” see www.simonperchik.com

See more of his work in 7.1 and 6.2 and 2.3 and 2.3