It’s evening outside the burn unit
By Simon Perchik

It's evening outside the burn unit
where this snapshot grafted in place
still cools the gutted page
has absorbed its memory :the album
all night filling with smoke
though the engine stopped and you
are standing alone, smiling.
 

To the side a faithful tree
with no leaves and those goggles
don't help—not yet but someday
a dependable dressing you will hear
years later as this tree still young
hear there were summers and rain.
 

Someone is working on it, a paper
you can eat in the open
and once in your bloodstream
rolls around and around
with all that laughter you forgot
as warm as if yesterday
—you must be having a great time.

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