Philip Lamantia: Poem for André Breton

When we met for the last time by chance, you were with Yves

  Tanguy whose blue eyes were the myth for all time, in the
  autumn of 1944
Daylight tubes stretched to masonry on Fifth and Fifty-Seventh in
  the logos of onomatopoetic languages of autochthonic peoples
Never have I beheld the Everglades less dimly than today
  dreaming the Ode to André Breton, you who surpassed all in
  the tasty knowables of Charles Fourier
Only the great calumet pipe for both of you We are hidden by
  stars and tars of this time
No one had glimpsed you great poet of my time But the look of
  your eyes in the horizon of northern fires turning verbal at
  Strawberry California
the Sierra Nevada seen from Mount Diablo on the rare clear day is
  enough of a gift to hold up over th rivers of noise
Metallic salt flies free
that “the state of grace” is never fallen
that the psychonic entities are oak leaves burnished with mysteries
  of marvelous love whose powers wake you with the glyph of
  geometric odors flaring in the siroccos about to return to Africa
Mousterian flint stones caress the airs of Timbuctu as I turn a
  corner of volcanic susnets from the latest eruption of Mount
  Saint Helens

—from Bed of Sphinxes,1997