Zerogarden Poem by Andrew Zawacki

Within the horizon of gabardine
hills, raku-
fired as if forged in the kiln
of georgic Georgia mid-
July, the trees halloo Tallulah
Gorge, velarium & an event in
themselves, gouged by blunt per
-sephones of crimson & of green
—gren
-ache, wasabi, hen
-na, Fanta, ferric, gren
-adine—
& a few miles south
off 328, in Tugaloo State Park,
a beach that shouldn't
be there is, the lake now
8 feet low, & fishing lures
& sinkers & bobbers are
snagged on roots of the
oak've eroded, & mica
speckling reddish clay where
one can walk beneath an
orphaned dock
are a trillion mini
mirrors among the mullions
composing, composting the bank,
to show the singular, macular
sun what it looks like—severally