The Meadow 2013 Literary and Art Journal - page 8

8
Meadow
*
by Simon Perchik
To grip the Earth you climb
as if this paint
is still not sure it’s safe
and though they’re white
waves don’t last in the dark
—each  rung by now
in that slow rollover
they were trained for, one
to stay white, the others
bleeding as rain and step by step
—this ladder is losing curvature
leans against the house
half ramp, half shoreline
and all these stars
still clinging to sunlight
are used to your hand over hand
and yes, spilling a few drops
the way every sea is filled
overflows, lets you drink
from a sky that will light up
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