The Enormous Silence

Sun vanishes in the West

as the fog surprises me, how it comes in thick,

like a storm of heavy snow back East, the old Dream Inn,

dark foliage of trees, even the nearest trees, within minutes blur

into a soft white-gray.

The Bay, the sky—there is no distinction;

and though I perch above it from West Cliff,

the municipal wharf is scarcely visible but for a faint, fuzzy,

ink-blotted line—

There, a first light barely burns through where the line breaks off.

And suddenly, irresistibly, something calls me—

An urgency—

I must go to the wharf,

I must walk to the end of it,

for there, at the end of it, something calls me,

addresses me—

And so I walk downward the slope

to the wharf and start out on this road over water

into a corridor of fog;

and I meet a man on my way playing guitar for no one,

but perhaps he plays for me:

He sings of parting this place; he sings of a destination unknown…

The Unknown—

undoubtedly our ultimate destination…

And quickly,

the land of the Cruz behind me fades out,

the Boardwalk carnival lights blur softly,

but young screams & shouts magnify

across the distance.

The surf…sleeping now…

I lean over to gaze upon such absolute calm, there is not a wave;

a dark mirror imponderable I gaze upon.

And something out there, at the end of the wharf, a silent voice

calls me.

I pass boat rentals, gift shops, wharf headquarters, fish markets,

all closed;

but very open this summer evening are the many restaurants,

enjoying their summer business.

Cars parked I pass,

a few fog-wandering people,

a few fishing from the back ends of vehicles.

Further on, I note not a sound from the sea lions

(I hear they go south in the earlier season).

And the last music always heard from the last restaurant

suddenly is blocked out.

Suddenly, the silence—

And something enormous is directly ahead,

I am so close to.

A lone angler, on the Boardwalk side, is catching rockfish,

he says.

I acknowledge his catch, there, I see in a bucket,

and then,

I turn—

Here, finally,

at the end of the wharf, my destination—

Under the last light, like a staging area, but utterly vacant,

with only the white wood railing a solid barrier

between safety & plunge,

I lean & look over with trepidation into watery oblivion

merging all around with an impenetrable, all-surrounding

Veil.

And before me—

the enormous silence

the ENORMOUS SILENCE

Its voice—

Out of nowhere, a gull flies up & alights on the railing

barely an arm’s length away—

It eyes me; it keens, once, twice;

then turns & effortlessly, fearlessly, wings back & vanishes

into the enormous silence

where I cannot follow,

not in this body.

I am in awe of what I cannot do.

I am in awe

of the ENORMOUS SILENCE

Santa Cruz

July 1998