The Ash Wednesday Octets

ash wednesday octet #1

why expect cherries to bloom white froth in this

land of cinderblocks & pale yellow clapboards?

the sound of a plane where the sunlight’s smeared on

big clouds, the sound of a car, a train whistle—

people are talking in the parking lot; notes

played on a harp with dandelions woven

through its strings emanate from a far off land—

the sky east of the cedars: entirely ash

◦           ◦            ◦

ash wednesday octet #2

not the stories I was going to tell you:

photons from track lights glistening on the skins

of citrus; watch them scatter beyond even

onions & yams in their bins—loving kindness

meditation for everyone I don’t

know, which is everyone—contrary sky

tears its clouds into white rags floating on

blue blue waters—by turns brilliant & ashen

◦        ◦          ◦

ash wednesday octet #3

a pair of sunglasses with heart rims & no

lenses left for dead on the parking strip grass—

you see that every day of course—weeping

birch catkins dangle their promises too, stirred

in a thin breeze, & the crow pecks orange peels,

fragments of a summer sun torn to pieces;

that blue sneaker next to the door has no mate:

sky’s had it up to here with incense ashes

Jack Hayes

© 2017

Note: I know I said I was going on a blog vacation until Sunday, but things happen.