There is Nothing That Is Not Green

136 ZACH SAVICH THERE IS NOTHING THAT IS NOT GREEN Magnolia offering blossom now to the first hour’s thaw (there is no false thaw, even an hour’s). Can explain anything. How orphan swans imprint to their handler’s hands—there’s Leda for you, awash with orphic swans. And here is the snowling junco on seasoned wood. Snow-long. One may be many things, and have a temperature, and all the emotions made for men as sun was for the shed roof’s tin. Ice slides from a slant sloughing tracks to the shingles, snow atop stopped cars like siren bars. Fields in cloud-caught light. Streets salt white near sun-eroded brick. The light’s hanging perforations like phone slips on a pole’s poster for something lost. There are no narratives, economics, or theology, only the geologic triad: heat, pressure, time. Dear. Have seen the need to go to extremes so they won’t come 137 for you. Snow no longer melting but melted to its presences, re-adhering outside the frozen swamp by billboards blank or hand-painted or billboards dark. Rising fog. Hand-painted ice. Insist: there is nothing that is not green. ...