Spinning Sun

the traveler traverses the city as the summer
falls
marching on tip-toes
despair, rolling through the sky, arching as a
rainbow
and in her purse she carries a dream of sea-salt.
How lonely is
the breath of the sea, my god!
Their waves destroy themselves like
smoke-
signals from China
What to do with all the pros
and cons?
The
girl never wanted wickedness or judgment
but she had the affair
anyway
with the saltpeter ambassador
whose white lust arrested her
thoughts.
Ah, the innocent attack with their eyes closed
and sailors take
their time,
even when the ship is burning.
The woman without a
shadow
is crossing the Bridge of Change.
Sounds are not the same on
the
Street of Broken Hearts.
The night’s promises, almost in hand
pigeons
fly, kissing the seconds,
lighting upon the breasts of the unknown
beauty
darting beneath the silky sky they signify
the planes of
Paris.
Windows tell what they have seen
though none move behind
them
behind them there is only voiceless dreaming
they are like this girl
who seems to swim in love
she takes a little of its substance
takes it
inside.
I am not playing the game of the senses.
I am not singing with
ashes in my hair.
One night, by the statue of Etienne Marcel
I said, with
a gleam in my eye,
‘ Andre Breton told me to pass by. ’

- aprés Breton