Helix #4
A yellow N scale caboose
A sagebrush hunched frail against the gray snow
A roan horse steaming in a January field
Everything you see is talking back
A derelict crossing signal a vacant brick depot
A flicker perched in a silvery poplar
A movie theater the light gray & silver
A century rose encircling a dead cottonwood
A gray-blue bowl
A pussy willow in bloom in early March
A purple crocus a red crocus
A crumpled poem in a sport coat pocket
A white sun dress a navy pea coat
A streak of henna in February sunlight
A whelk a conch a sand dollar
You can’t take your own reflection
An N scale 19th century steam engine
A bolo tie a black sport coat the sleeves rolled up
A Joshua Tree in white blossom
An evening replete with silence & more silence
A pair of black-rimmed reading glasses
A screen door the screen torn in patches
A silver daytime moon beside a gray cloud
Your face intent & absorbed
A blue note that doesn’t resolve
A redwing blackbird’s urgent February trill
Your uneasy place in forever
Helix #5
A pink silk rose
A white & blue ceramic elephant teapot
A safety pin a brass thumbtack
An umber sofa you doze there at 2:00 p.m.
A February lemon sun
An white enamelled bowl brimming with rosehips
A 50s postcard shaped like California
A crescent moon tattoo
A Union Pacific train emerging from an Oregon tunnel
A glossolalia of dogwoods & laughter
A coonskin cap in a roadside tourist shop
A statue of Nuestra Señora a metal bed frame
A stile stepping into the dry September pasture
A great blue heron
A red tin roof brushed slick with hoarfrost
A train you are never there to meet it
A porch with wooden railing a green May twilight
A mockingbird in a tulip tree
A white cord hammock
You are laughing a fountain it’s incomprehnsible
A black magic marker a wooden letter opener
A wooden spatula a red & white teapot
A plate of lemon pasta a pair of irrigation boots
A train you are never there to see it off
A flock of guinea hens cackling in the cottonwood
A C major seven a D minor seven transposed a major third
A divided highway at 3:00 a.m.
A silver flute a lime-green ukulele
An evening in a bookstore without any hope except hope
Where are you in your words
Jack Hayes
© 2010