Wednesday, August 13, 2014


A painter would pause this late afternoon 
on Alameda beach, glimpsing paradise, 
would be seized by insight and pull out 
the brushes and palette
and begin to work quickly 
because look how the clouds 
are fattening up, gulping the light 
right out of the sky, 
existing only in tones and lines 
but still there is a kind of diamond dazzle, 
at times unblended in how it falls 
on the buckwheat, the sticky monkey flowers. 
A painter would have to dab short 
quick strokes to show how this quickening 
breeze wraps around 
my shoulders, makes my hair fly up 
with the kites and the water skiers’ parachutes. 
I too sense a big moment, though my mind is blank,
fit only for hushed gazing 
yet I feel a sumptuous intimacy 
with gulls and wind and bay and buckwheat 
that is quite solitary, 

indeed can only be noticed