Vacuum Advance

The dark side of her eyes
crease the sunset
                              as you would the petals of some
                                                                tropical flower
maybe a rare orchid
              with blooms the color of burnt steel

& that she proves Zeno’s law with every step she takes

the highway disappearing over her shoulder
like smoke

                                                I told her I could drive the PCH forever

just that stretch from Point Mugu to Santa Monica
& back again
                              a region of rare power & inspiration
                                                                somehow
tapping the source of dreams lost & dreams
that have yet to be dreamt
                                                                like hillsides & bluffs
                                                                          crumbling into the sea

(coastal erosion
is a state of mind)

              “The world is ruled by letting things take their course.
              It cannot be ruled by interfering.
              If you try to change it you will ruin it.
              If you try to hold it you will lose it.”

all that cement will turn to sand eventually

be patient

A couple of cast-iron two and a quarter inch pipes stuck down into the concrete or asphalt blacktop & a length of rusty chain link laying there bleeding
                              Across the street a row of storefronts looking shabby & forlorn beneath torn awnings & TV antennas or dirty white satellite dishes
                              A small sooty cactus to the right of the entrance, cigarette butts & bottle caps in its thorns or spikes or needles—whatever you call them—& when shadows fall against it you can almost hear a sigh

              Open up the sky (it’s dark) but like her
              indifferent to the slurred speech of waves the
              traffic on Highway 1 understands
              apparently

                              I’m always hearing things although I don’t always listen
              Feel my eyes holding often & only unreal light flings itself at her feet
                              Any second now a knock at the door could be silently returned
                                                The clairvoyant isometrics of palm trees repeating themselves out along the main-line
              The streets the darkness paddles across diminishing rapidly as if the laws of physics had been sped up & played in reverse
                              ( a slow semi-rational tango I’m almost certain
              rakes the brain within its groove )

              Night sifting down thru the smog

                              there wasn’t anything we could do about it

              The streets with their shadows tucked neatly into place

I wondered at the genius of it―

                                                She never said a word
                                                                she didn’t have to

                              The streets were hers
                                                                & the shadows
                                                & the night