Anabranch by Andrew Zawacki (Wesleyan, 2004)

16*



The preludes to morning were only a decoy: lemon trees

rinsed in sidereal drowse, black swans and jasper reprising

each other, the map a space for inventoried charades. Rorsch-

ached to a po-faced noon, we tinkered with an engine that

wouldn't catch, while the selves the sun repeated for us, aslant

and appareled in zinc, unrehearsed their agitated angles of

repose.



*Note: From "Masquerade," a poem in 26 sections. These lines should wrap like prose and be right justified. Does anybody know the tag for that?



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