Little Evidence of the Bee’s
Rain falling past the curtain you can draw
your own conclusions, There is little evidence
of the bee’s contact with a blossom
but the blossom, which is nonetheless
and admittedly large and disabstracting
These children drawing numbers on the black-
board appear waving numbers at the night
As my heart, done up in humanist brick,
keeps going around, which to a record player
is music, Sunday, And longing striate and radial
And my own breath a railing, Or this woman
in dark gloves as though handless before
dark woods, Lunging pronounced lung-
ing, breathily, Dear phonographic tongue flat
on my neck, Don’t you want a little intrigue,
regret, Let me tell you pleasure gardens
as in cultivates like the men at the checker
factory calling out to the evening red black red
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About the Author
Zach Savich’s first book, Full Catastrophe Living, won the 2008 Iowa Poetry Prize. He has recent poems in Kenyon Review, Denver Quarterly, and Best New Poets 2008.
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