June Moon

(8 quatrains)

1. new moon

one blush rose blossoming east reflects the sun

in more than one sense; the white rose bushes bloom

fair weather clouds come to earth—flying straight west

above blacktop one crow carries the new moon

2. waxing crescent

that single white rose by the front steps unfurls

new petals under the rosemary’s needles—

west horizon holds on almost white at dusk:

the crescent a lone petal in deeper blue

3. half moon

the rhododendron lets its petals fall off

to their mauve sleep along the walkway; brass wind

chimes play a lazy riff down the street; those white

clouds soar: half moon appears to sink on the slant

4. waxing gibbous

the big magnolia’s first white flowers gaze

south past the bus stop sign, almost shyly; this

violet light’s a bruise on the horizon:

the moon’s pupil looks in the same direction

5. full moon

in eight second story windows, just one light—

above the concrete, the shikimi’s leaves nod;

cedar boughs ripple against a dark sky where

the moon emerges as if between curtains

6. waning gibbous

leaves are black paper cutouts on this block past

the white reach of any streetlights; two rooftops

drawn in ink lines hemmed with a golden brushstroke:

moon just past full rises between their chimneys

7. last quarter

beyond green trusses of the Interstate Bridge

three geese fly south: shadows against overcast—

white sailboat mid-river is waiting for wind:

half moon drifts toward setting beyond white clouds

8. waning crescent

petals & leaves of the cirrocumulus:

the eyes can never visit the same one twice;

could cottonwood pollen fall from that distance?

blinded by the sun in search of the crescent

Jack Hayes

© 2017

Backyard Loving-Kindness Double Octet

(6/19/17)

                        for Sandy

you & I talking over coffee, bench swing

rocking between sun & shade, the motionless

bicycle pinwheel in the garden, foxglove

flashes white facing east, purple facing west--

spider silk strung from the paperbark maple

to the rhododendron glistens, a live wire

vanishes as we turn our heads; such is light:

meanwhile we’ve each turned up in the other’s eyes

◦

daylilies blossom in an orange circle

ahead of today’s heat; the future happens:

that frame hammock streaked with the ginkgo's shadow,

a rusted songbird’s mute note on the latticed

fence rail, that glass sun with curved black metal rays

& face; clematis twines on a bamboo pole,

& prayer flags reach from there to the pear tree:

light permeates ragged fabric, thread by thread

Jack Hayes

© 2017

Four Octets on the Way to the Solstice

(6/20/17)

1. Williams Ave Morning

the cartoon bee on the shop sign seems to fly

smiling into white birches, satisfied to

never land—katsura branches reach higher

than 10:30 sun, but its light penetrates

leaf skin on the verge of translucence, veined green

hearts—multi-dimensional curve & swirl of

black plum flattened to silhouette on pale green

fabric of a picnic table umbrella

◦

2. 7th Ave Noon

the Japanese maple’s parasol: spring green

below, maroon up top; white pickup truck

in the driveway matches two calla lilies

by the house, at least in some sense; vanilla,

strawberry, chocolate balloons swirl on that

sandwich board’s ribbon as noon sun emerges

to cast the invisible robin’s shadow,

the one singing from the invisible tree

◦

3. Glisan St Afternoon

near the bus stop the sidewalk’s strewn green with grass

a weed-whacker scattered there; elsewhere sharp black

angles of street signs, the power lines’ scalloped

edges criss-cross concrete; it’s different in

the sky: cotton rags of the cumulus clouds,

the poor at heart at the fringe of the high blue—

bamboo stands up in galvanized tubs above

barbed wire strands into irresistible light

◦

4. Mississippi Ave Evening

at Beech St the sun has dropped below that brick

building, just the magnolia’s top boughs glow;

half a block north, white light halo envelopes

the ash tree,  blinding inflorescence of rays

intersects power lines; bus stop sign bends its

half-circle shadow up a plate glass door; my

shadow stretches past golden bamboo east to

the red metal bench where I saw us talking

Jack Hayes

© 2017

Four Views of Arbor Lodge

(6/15/17)

1. Bus Stop

wisteria trailing from a galvanized

trellis quivers purple & green in drizzle

2. Construction Site

mourning dove perched on the cyclone fence cocks its

head toward stratus clouds gray as its feathers

3. Parking Strip

kale sprouts green & purple inside chicken wire,

the raised bed's earth black as the driveway puddle

4. Playground

yellow toy bulldozer sunk in sandbox mud;

wet tennis court transformed to green glass mirror

Jack Hayes

© 2017

Sleeping & Waking Octet

                        for Sandy

dried blush roses kept in a nightstand vase, blue

& white quilted bedspread, windows sloped to catch

the moon’s reflection of the white rose blooming

by the porch where the cat shuts its lunar eyes,

where bamboo chimes lend night a tongue; the alarm

clock’s chimes, aluminum birds singing in a

breeze, the one spinning holographs into flesh

here at the intersection of dreams & hands

Jack Hayes

© 2017

Interstate Ave Celestial Terrestrial Double Octet

(6/2/17)

water tower rises west, green oval sun

in the wrong quadrant; seen through a barred window

the model train at rest, the trestle crosses

painted water empty; its boughs a veil that

weeping birch turned Mater Dolorosa shades

the convenience store; the man in his sky blue

jersey in the motel parking lot sweeps pink

rhododendron petals into a dustpan

◦

six white birches stand upright in white morning,

last month’s catkins dried against the pull box lid;

clover froths up from the parking strip; the train’s

bell rings in a time signature I can’t count,

its passengers facing both north & south; just

one maple it passes is wrapped in unlit

lights; water tower rises next to the firehouse:

round green sun in stasis in the eastern sky

Jack Hayes

© 2017

Three Rockaway Beach Poems for Sandy

Rockaway Beach Setting Sun Octet

(5/25/17)

the sun lays down across the Pacific; there’s

no word for that flash, the water rolling gray

& the spume’s ragged hair catching slanted light,

creases where breakers lose eastern momentum

in steel blue ripples, one gull in silhouette

progressing north toward the point’s curtain of haze;

damp sand gleams here & there with beached jellyfish,

repositories of light in their transit

◦           ◦            ◦

Rockaway Beach Sea & Sky Octet

(5/26/17)

from one angle the surf shows its face tattoo

ink blue; these rocks expose skin gray & sunburned

& olive, but the driftwood’s bleached; in solid

blue sky the dragon kite weaves smiling through gusts,

the boy guiding that mythic body on twine;

north, the butterfly kite trails long blue tassels,

reaching back into past lives; from another

angle surf mirrors tidal green in your eyes

◦           ◦            ◦

Salal at the Ocean Octet

(5/27/17)

salal’s heart blossoms dangle white fringed crimson

in the Pacific’s gray breath; on the one hand,

swarms of ghosts, on the other this thing called love;

two black driftwood logs washed up on this moment’s

edge of the continent shift in incoming

tide; you in your gray sweater running beside

the dog you said in joy; salal heart blossoms

turn to bells in sea’s perpetual echo

Jack Hayes

© 2017

Night Sky Poetics Octet

for Sheila

white rind of an eye: crescent moon’s curving gaze;

that cedar has turned into a shadow, those

parking strip iris turn white blossoms skyward—

what else should they look at? one golden planet

unblinking in this evening’s indigo

membrane must catch a glimpse of kousa dogwood’s

multiple inflorescent eyes looking back;

nightfall's elements reading nightfall's poem

Jack Hayes

© 2017

May Moon

(8 quatrains)

1. new moon

kwanzan petals have fallen on rose bush leaves;

another pair drifts to the waiting sidewalk,

drops in a slow pink shower—sun blooms through cloud

foliage, invisible moon at the root

2. waxing crescent

one cherry tree’s profile curves to the south, &

wind inclines its boughs more in that direction

in swoops & nods; one planet above the roof:

waxing moon reverses the cherry tree’s form

3. half moon

half a plastic Easter egg on a mown lawn,

two dandelion clocks by the brick edging,

marking their own time; uniform sky all day:

silver half moon atop its blue other half

4. waxing gibbous

white ball dribbled on concrete, bounced off the roof;

rumble of a prop plane’s flight west, just out of

reach; dozens of crows sail through a fading sky

southeast, the darker quadrant despite this moon

5. full moon

pine tree boughs with their freight of cones lead the gaze

upward past the intersection streetlight, white

eye watching one car, red rhododendrons,

that plane tree rocking the full moon in her arms

6. waning gibbous

resonance of the repeating train whistle

fills gray morning; black parking reflects green

cedars as they stand in this blank, liquid sky:

somewhere above the rain, the moon’s exhaling

7. last quarter

the dandelion growing under the blue

mail collection box has gone past, but the blue

bus will pull up at this stop any moment: blue

sky where the half moon sinks through clouds, reappears

8. waning crescent

three swifts darting above the rooftops: cursive

alphabet drawn against the sun then gone; from

this angle the power line's a silver thread:

daytime crescent erased in blue effulgence

Jack Hayes

© 2017

Mississippi Ave Metamorphosis Octets

Mississippi Ave Metamorphosis Octet #1

(5/14/17)

moss on the retaining wall looks like rust in

three dimensions—despite this, the thistle blooms

purple & spiked as an undersea creature

brought up into sun & concrete & the drone

of the #4 bus downhill, the folded

crimson sidewalk umbrellas, the locked black bike—

over wine at the picnic table, their arms

entwined, the couple meld into someone new

◦           ◦            ◦

Mississippi Ave Metamorphosis Octet #2

(5/14/17)

crow flies up the avenue hangs a right on

Skidmore, is gone—one person on crutches waits

at the bus stop—Japanese maple below

that white enamel pot dangling & dented in

the restaurant window has been restored to

green—what had seemed so certainly a dogwood

inflorescence flies off as a cabbage white;

catalpa’s heart leaves caw a crow’s waltz time song

Jack Hayes

© 2017

Interstate Ave Affirmation Octet

(5/11/17)

                for Sandy

                    

all day you speak inside me: this gentle rain

whispering kisses to the leaves & birch trees

nodding yes—catkins scattered on the sidewalk,

they’ve given it all up to the elements—

these dogwoods nodding yes & yes again, pink

hands open to what the sky has to offer—

train pulling out of Prescott Station chiming

nothing so clear as your clear voice speaking yes

Jack Hayes

© 2017

Three Octets from a Wednesday

Kerby Ave Aspects of the Moon Octet

(5/10/17)

where the white dogwood bracts lay open in noon

light: full moons by the dozen; the cabbage white

floating amongst the bluebells: another moon

moving across a blue sky; the rickety

pergola’s naked archway leads toward that

gray-shingled cottage—does anyone live there?

hours still until tonight's moon comes in view;

the cabbage white rises above the lilacs

◦           ◦            ◦

Vancouver Ave Childhood Octet

(5/10/17)

the ladybug moves down the rose leaf’s slope

like a drop of water down a slight incline--

the wasp darts from stem to stem as each angles

out from chain link like these photons scattering

in brilliant noon; the cabbage white threads between

three plastic rocking horses guarding front steps

like a breeze from a spring afternoon you half

recollect, half tell yourself in this story

◦           ◦            ◦

Greenwich Ave Gardening Octet
(5/10/17)

in one raised bed a cracked green teapot next to

a bent tomato cage listing slightly north—

one vermilion metal hummingbird, larger

than life, & one pale yellow watering can

found in a second—two pink flamingos, shards

of a ceramic vase show up in a third—

the beds yield their crop of dandelion clocks

& each one’s set to a different hour

Jack Hayes

© 2017

Three Octets from Monday

Albina Ave Color Theory Octet

(5/8/17)

there's nothing blue like this sky, not the bluebells

swarming by the corrugated fence, shadows

of the fig boughs distorted on its rippled

surface; nothing yellow like the four dandelions

under the fig tree boughs, not the afternoon

sun, which is after all too white for human eyes;

nothing green like these fig leaves spreading fingers

through all dimensions they find a place to touch

◦           ◦            ◦

Albina Ave Octet for Bai Juyi

(5/8/17)

near the flock of black patio umbrellas

ten peonies cast their shadows; Bai Juyi

tells me it’s all about regret when twilight

draws ash-gray curtains east to west & teardrop

bulbs burn amber filaments along their black

wire; down the street, a single orchid seen through

glass bricks but barely; rugosa rose blossoms

against a square fence built from bicyle wheels

◦           ◦            ◦

Peninsula Park Conditional Octet

(5/8/17)

seen in a photo—for instance the photo

being taken of the posed man & woman

seated on its rim—the fountain’s spray would be-

come immortal diamonds arcing across

this afternoon without evaporation—

look! a few cream rose petals unfold themselves

to fathomless sky—though it’s not possible

camellia flowers still bloom in the flesh

Jack Hayes

© 2017

Note for the curious: The reference to Bai Juyi is to his poem 惜牡丹花
xī mŭ dān huā, which can be found in my translation here.

Bouquet Poetics Octet

                        for Sandy

where you see purple iris petals you should

read solstice midnight; narcissus petals form

stars come down to gaze close up at this

birch table, white faces; rosemary needles would

tattoo a single name on the heart muscle,

because the mind too has made its house inside

that vase, its poetics beyond what I write,

stems magnified in glass conformed to water

Jack Hayes

© 2017

Two Octets from Early May

Lawrence Ave Epithalamic Octet

(5/2/17)

planted inside the lot’s roofless Saab, bamboo

lifts multiple arms through drizzle, a gesture

that might be ecstatic—inside the warehouse

a violin concerto glissades through scales

as if the strings were thawing ice—deflated

red basketball lies under the sculptural

rhododendrons—gray sedan wears petals for

this afternoon’s nuptials of rain & pavement

◦           ◦            ◦

Greenwich Ave Spring Mysteries Octet

(5/3/17)

bee drone like spasmodic coughs in the faded

andromeda bells; Ganesha lifts his one

right hand—something never seen in nature—in

an act of blessing: a statue leaned against

raised beds with sun-bleached flamingos & teapots;

how bewildering the dogwood’s coral pink

inflorescence isn’t really a flower;

these scattered cherry petals smell like the sea

Jack Hayes

© 2017

Two Octets from Late April

28th Ave Coincidence of Opposites Octet

(4/26/17)

across this one page of today the letters

for sunlight scribbled in the cherry petals’

flutter & spin, the walk light flashing, a plane

sailing west between black power lines & white

cirrus spindrift, steel-gray sedan’s back window

mottled with blossoms at the intersection,

the stoplight changing—black sign rising by that

blue bus stop bench, a white heart at its center

◦           ◦            ◦

Greenwich Ave Transfiguration Octet

(4/27/17)

the maple’s new leaves carry a charge of light,

as if offshoots of the same April air poured

into the tulips’ purple cups; the same air

the rosemary branches reach through; the silence

of bluebells, dry song of bamboo wind chimes on

the porch in a breeze I hadn’t noticed; air

currents rippling with geese transformed to trumpets,

their big formation flying into the sun

Jack Hayes

© 2017

April Moon

(8 quatrains)

1. new moon

irregular ticking of the first raindrops

rattles ironwood leaves, last autumn's echoes;

in streetlights the plum blossoms change to fresh snow:

hard to say if that blank sky’s empty or full

2. waxing crescent

petals drop from those two star magnolias

standing against sunset light & the airplanes

emerging from it; a few blossoms nod in

this breeze subtle as the silver lunar curve

3. half moon

where the street curves north the serviceberries bloom

white five-pointed stars & tree lilacs quiver

in the breeze & the flurry of mason bees:

half moon dozes silver past the maple’s hands

4. waxing gibbous

white daffodils show their faces through chain link

diamonds; a woman passes, transparent

umbrella warding off the streetlight drizzle:

pear tree blossoms reflect this flowering moon

5. full moon

blinds opened, each slat shifts from light to shadow

angling away from the floor lamp: black roof draws

its edge between security lights below

& that moon shifting between the slats of clouds

6. waning gibbous

that scrub jay flying west turns black against clouds;

one crow walks across a white picnic table;

pattern of wires across an unsettled sky

where a shrinking moon sinks into blue morning

7. last quarter

cherry petals in this west wind: falling

stars, the pavement a galaxy of what was—

raindrops turn visible striking the sidewalk:

half moon sinks in the folds of white cloud blossoms

8. waning crescent

low clouds follow the curve of weeping birch boughs

pointing toward a white sun where overcast

accumulates again above one crow’s flight:

last crescent in search of one last blue island

Jack Hayes

© 2017

Columbia River Octets (for Sandy)

Phenomenological Columbia River Double Octet

(4/22/17)

the single green houseboat moored at the pier’s end,

a bicycle hanging on the bowside wall

knows something singular about the water—

the one cormorant stretching dark wings into

sun & wind from its driftwood perch knew something

deep about the ripples before we walked through

this blue afternoon not exactly the same

as blue under the boat’s keel, in the bird’s eye

◦

sparrows in these hedges stay invisible

though leaves sing, perhaps not because cumulus

clouds drift across the sky blue sky sky reflecting

the river’s flotilla of moored sailboats—what’s

above also being below—river’s salt breath, wind

off the iris slope of Larch Mountain & you

kneeling to catch the imaginary scent

of white rhododendrons mingling with our breath

◦           ◦            ◦

Columbia River Morning Octet

(4/23/17)

sky & river both from a black & white film:

stratus clouds, the slategray current, that same flock

of mergansers set adrift, the cormorant

erupting off the water, one song sparrow

perched on the juniper with nothing to say,

a pair of mallards floating across the pier’s

reflection, the crow, a twig clasped in its beak,

flies to the cedar to nest as if it knew

Jack Hayes

© 2017

Two April Octets

22nd Ave Satori Octet

(4/20/17)

electric wind off the MAX train out of sight

behind me, beyond the apple tree’s white eyes

blossoming by the hundreds, my eyes in bloom

too, this sunlight caressing the palmetto’s

fronds, such a head of hair let down in waves of

green memory, sunlight embracing pastel

rhododendrons, laying its radiant hand

on the tea shop’s drawn blinds, reflecting on me

◦           ◦            ◦

Denver Ave Spring Meditation Octet

(4/21/17)

two strings of prayer flags & a black bicycle

constitute a porch; this dogwood’s outpouring,

its hundreds of hearts opened to whatever

this honest blue sky with its one white airplane

flying east over the treetops might offer

constitutes spring like that one scarlet tulip,

a cup in its patch of sunlight both empty

& filled past the Japanese maple’s shadow

Jack Hayes

© 2017