I return

But really where are we

I shine with two fingers the window’s coat

A griffin of transparency sticks its head

Through I don’t recognize the district

Evening falls it’s clear that we’ve been going for a long time

now aimlessly

Easy does it now let’s see

And I tell you there was a plaque on the left there

Rue what Rue-where-maybe-given-the-right-to-a-good-dear-

dinner

And seventeen hundred francs on the meter that’s insane

Why are you waiting to check your map in the name of God

But the driver seems to emerge from a dream

His head to the right he reads out loud

Rue-of-dear-good-souls

That’s fine

That leaves him neither hot nor cold

Better yet he speaks of resuming the journey

He already has his hand on his flag

Where were we going I’ve forgotten

We enter a worm-eaten tobacco shop

You have to part thick curtains of gray gauze

Like the bayahondes of Haiti

On the counter a naked woman with wings

Pours blood into eclipse glasses

The labels on the bottles bear the words Gondine Free Fishers

you would speak of brandy from Danzig Evita de Martines

And the cigar boxes blaze with pictures of skirmishes

The marvel on the wall is a fan of windows

Madam are we still far from Chorhymene

But the beauty in the burning bush sees herself reflected in her

fingernails

Gamblers at the back of the room smash cliffs of stained glass

We retrace our steps

The road is lined with houses all under construction

Whose pistils point and stamens deploy like arc lamps

André Breton