From sun-bleached McAllister
where agapanthus sprouts purple
globes from jade-leafed settings
nestled among granite blocks
(the only shade under maple trees)
walk seventeen blocks.
Thirty-three paces South, one for each year,
up and down three hillocks,
"X" marks the spot
where God has arrayed
in gutter sludge and plastic fragments
an ant-scaled scape of odd
cigarette butts and crumpled pale
eucalyptus leaves, forming
notations -- a proof
of the unified theory of everything.
If Arthur looked, he'd likely see
the Virgin Mary, with the same face
she made when warning him
of psychic vampires and mafia.
Move quick, for it will shift and change
with a breeze and a few
minutes'
time, and after high fog rolls in;
sunlight will have made
all the difference.
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