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.


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