The Morning

There should be no question which to honor,
between proof and evidence. To comprehend involves
the hand, thus lungs.

This morning is hay they are building a barn around.
They should finish in another month.

But there is nothing I would rather believe than see.

Suspectible to all resuscitations!
Forgotten canal!
Ladder in hail!

She said I’m not good for a lot, except in situations.

I’m always in situations.
In one situation I argue that there is nothing
I would rather understand than have. Not a salmon.
Certainly not a low-residency creative writing
program offering you the only truly (secret)
terminal degree. You will be able to say you studied with
(actors garbed as) Socrates, Faulkner, and three
John Updikes. Then I hit a deer with my car.
Talk him down, the negotiator said,
handing me a megaphone. But I would rather come
up to you.

Zach Savich is the author of three books of poetry, including The Firestorm, and a book of aching prose, Events Film Cannot Withstand. He teaches at Shippensburg University.

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