Barbara Helfgott Hyett


Blood. Breath. Whisky.
Monument du Corps-Franc, Fontbruno, France

Someone saw the forest falling. And is gone—

Tonight, over Muscat
in dusty glasses, Julien salutes
his French Resistance—

boys toppling a hay wagon sullied
with soldiers and guns, stopping
for a while the makeshift war—

grape vines, honey-plaited bees, so loud
the river, so deep the stones. Same
old story. How sunflowers sometimes

stand up to rain. Even lunatic dragonflies
shudder the crypt—everyone’s name
stamped on the wall.

One must meet oneself regardless. 
Let a dog come if he wants to.  
We are all without permission.


published by J-Journal