Allotropy
Who's coming in
It's me pull yourself together if you want me to put
you together
The closet is full of linens
There are even moonbeams
that I can unfold
You've changed
Here's the proof that you have
changed
The gifts they give the newborns in their cribs
Are almost the
same arrow shows the direction yo're coming from
Where you're going
Your heart is on the path of that arrow
Your eyes which will again shine
bright cloud over the mist of things
Your hands grope along a road for the
dark needle that can prevent a catastrophe
You see the woman you have loved
Without them seeing you you see them without them seeing you
The black
wolves in turn pass behind you
Who are you
Shadow of an evildoer on
the high walls
Shawdow of a signalman stretching farther than the signal
I am the primary innocent party
My head rolls from on high where my steps
will never fail
What makeup
No one will recognise me
Later
between the stones in a heap
The window is wide open
On that
magnificent heap
Bend forward
Bend forward to change again
It is
indeed you who dend and change
That photgraph you forgot to have toned
Is so like you
[1926]
It's You it is not us…
It's you it is not us it's the fire that doesn't fear the wind
The kind
that sweeps quicker than wind over the countryside
A young girl shakes her
black hair insleep
And watches us pass
And watches you pass it's you
it is not us
The genius of the well lowers his magic blue hoop onto your
path
It's no longer you is it you its not us
There are doors for every
precipice
Even for the ones we fall over and all the way down there are
birds
Birds that live only there
Whose wings form and X more vibrant
than any other
Where are you going the address is grinding you I see fine
nude legs
There are no precipices for you
No fleeting oaths that glide
over resplendent waters
You are the light winding about the necks of trees
The light that escapes no one and that twists around the grindstone no one sees
Here is the sea here are the races and rosacres you love
The eternal armor
of snows on the sea
The wet coupes whipped by the red algae of long avenues
Here are the beautiful aiguillettes
Is it there do you want to see the
cross that never arises above sea-level
Do you want the forest of mirrors
furrowed with black lightning
That hides behind the northen dawns
Do you attend the intimate coronations of queens with no subjects
Or
else do you come from the serene pallor of mortal things
Like me
questioning you and seeking your arms like a flame through a grill
What
grill the grill of time
What time the time of tears
Where are the
shapes of leaves of veils of huge butterfies that make the wind tremble
Where is the fire going the fire that doesn't fear the wind
Andre Breton (1926)