[They have another dish for the fallen petals]
They have another dish for the fallen petals
Flowers cut from larger petals
Some features’ fineness is comparable to beauty
The prettiest words refer to passing time
Is mercy an exception or the only one
Can delicacy be enough
If insistent enough to endure
Is it delicacy then
[The coffee stays warmest longest when I drink it]
The coffee stays warmest longest when I drink it
Lying on the daybed with my vase
I don’t know any flower’s name
Winnowing is worth more than wit
The forest burns itself whenever it wants
It’s not dramatic, birds crashing up from the ashes
Ordinary finches
Their population doubles whenever they want
[Our letters were like inventing the steam engine]
Our letters were like inventing the steam engine
So one morning in a derelict station
Someone could open a café
To sidle is a motion bringing one closer regardless
Letters like strawberries on a plain cloth
I stay on the smaller balcony
Pull the curtain around the gardenia
There’s a lemon under that bowl
[Bicycle in vines]
Bicycle in vines
Child singing with mouth against the window
A way of seeing out
Shh somebody says, so she begins to whisper-sing
How does it alter the view
If I eat everything walking, can I make the river
One with small pockets sewn on an orange skirt
She and I’ll be at the river
Zach Savich is the author of four poetry collections, a book of prose, and a chapbook. His poems, essays, and book reviews have appeared widely in such places as American Poetry Review, Boston Review, A Public Space, Mid-American Review, VOLT, jubilat, Colorado Review, and other journals and anthologies. Savich is currently completing his fifth collection of poetry, The Orchard Green and Every Color, which will be published by Omnidawn in 2016, and writing a memoir about cancer, poetry, and friendship.
