Green Hills Literary Lantern









It’s this thin envelope, empty, closed

gasping for air though your knuckles

are still flickering –what you hold


was never mailed, lets you rest

read the address over and over

just to move it further off


away from this boiling mountainside

ripping apart, flowing down your arm

with nothing left and cools –these days


you don’t lick the glue –in all directions

your mouth is her name, alone

coming back as ashes and snow.




Simon Perchik is an attorney whose poems have appeared in Partisan Review, The New Yorker and elsewhere. For more information, including his essay “Magic, Illusion and Other Realities” and a complete bibliography, please visit his website at