"may bouquet in daylight moonlight"

may bouquet in daylight moonlight

for Sheila
afternoon half moon eastward, sky’s acrylic
cerulean without a hint of brushstroke or

cumulus, flat & infinite above the bus stop—
still, for all their one-time crimson, lavender, bridal

white extravagance, rhododendrons shrink inward to-
day to brown husks beyond the concept of

spring—or splash across the sidewalk in
technicolor patterns determined by nothing more

nothing less than a May breeze—random &
fleshy as scraps of memory—

it was another thing in April, kwanzan blossoms
frothing on cherries lining the avenue—

the world different then in ways that make no sense—
except as this half moon swells ghostly into

its next phase—(when astronauts
touched down on the moon, which moon was it?)

at moonset fresh scarlet roses will carry on
opening maps into June & we’ll go
                         back to a place we haven’t been before


Jack Hayes
© 2015



(posted 5/28; revised 5/29)

"Postman Cheval"

Postman Cheval


We the birds you always charm from atop these belvederes
And who each night form no more than one blossoming branch from your shoulders to
the arms of your beloved wheel-barrow
Which we uproot from your wrists more sharply than sparks
We are the sighs of the glass statue that rises itself up on its elbow when man sleeps
So shining breaches may open in his bed
Breaches through which can be glimpsed stags with coral antlers inside a glade
Or naked women at the very bottom of a mine
You remember then you got up you got off the train
Without a glance toward the locomotive preyed upon by immense barometric roots
That moans in the virgin forest for all its murdered boilers
Its smokestacks smoking hyacinths and stirred by blue serpents
We would then go before you we the plants subject to metamorphoses
Who each night send signals man can intercept
While his house tumbles down and he’s astounded by the odd couplings
His bed seeks with the corridor and staircase
The staircase branches out indefinitely
It leads to a millstone door it opens suddenly onto a public square
It’s made of swans’ backs an outstretched wing as the rail
It turns upon itself as if it’s going to bite itself
But no it’s content at the sound of our footsteps to open all its steps like drawers
Bread drawers wine drawers soap drawers ice drawers staircase drawers
Flesh drawers with handfuls of hair
At the hour when the ducks of Vaucanson preen their feathers
Without turning around you seized the trowel used for making breasts
We smiled at you you held us by the waist
And we assumed the positions of your pleasure
Motionless under our eyelids forever as woman loves to see man
After making love




André Breton
translation by Jack Hayes 


Image links to its source on the Facteur Cheval website. Facteur Cheval was in fact a historical figure; you can read more about him here.