Ear to the shell

I’d not begun to see you you were SUNUP

Naught was unveiled

Every boat was swaying along the shore

Untying the favors (you know) of those boxes of dragées

Pink and white amidst which a silver shuttle ambulates

And I named you Sunup shaking

Ten years later

I meet you again in the tropical flower

Which opens at midnight

A lone crystal of snow which overflowed the cup of both

your hands

They call in Martinique the flower of the ball

It and you partake the mystery of existence

The first dew-bead getting far out in front of all the others

madly iridescent containing everything

I see what’s been hidden from me always

When you doze in the glade of your arm under the

butterflies of your hair

And when you’re reborn from the phoenix of your wellspring

In the mint-leaves of memory

Of the enigmatic moiré of resemblance in a bottomless mirror

Pulling out from that which can only be seen one time

In my heart all the wings of milkweed

Freight what you say to me

You wear a summer dress so that you do not know yourself

Nearly immaterial it’s spangled in every direction with

horseshoe magnets of a beautiful red minium to blue feet

André Breton