The six disembodied energies have not yet
departed Embarcadero del Mar
hovering above wild lilac above
fog banks soundproofing the beach:
Hey noble ones, avoid soft light, always move
to what’s brightest, have no fear, everything you see is your mind
I had thought [my] the self in this solitude would wither away like the state
I was improvident — even Trappist monks together in the refectory
commune with their eyes
therefore silence will be the obverse of solitude?
When did I stop channelling beauty?
There is a bass hum in my hearing aid to sense the silence better,
it smears the roar of the AC into distant music
Embarcadero del Mar looping to the seacliffs spiked
with wisps of pines over withered needle-grass
where the monstrum appeared
the black BMW that was not apocalypse but was wanting to be a god —
Slightly fading green of iris-leaf rushes,
darker green of Monterey cypress,
turquoise channels through Goleta Slough,
shadows layer a tapestry:
I am not talking about a landscape here — no frame no reference —
but how what they perceived became their afterlife.