what you can bear to say is not what you can bear to have said or repeat what’s so honest it can’t be said looking in another’s eye catalpa breeze a driveway recital 7 child cellists just outside
no peace was a wind from far through the house the curtains would move from it but to it the windows are bare dust rises and you can cover your mouth or eyes I saw no need to forgive me I returned to earth for coffee I had to do it and did it nevertheless
an ethics of deciding to see have I loved it enough for it to be enough here where not even ruin lasts
Zach Savich
Zach Savich is the author of eight books of poetry and prose, including Daybed (Black Ocean, 2018). Recent work has appeared in publications including Posit, Salt Hill, Barrelhouse, and Jubilat. He is an associate professor at the Cleveland Institute of Art.
