What did L. Cohen see
From the peak at Mt. Baldy?
Did he see the mist and horizon
A ski lift and mountain bar?
Fat children hurling snowballs?
When his mind pondered eternity
Was he distracted by spinning tires?
The ground shines metallic
With wanderers in mufflers and sunshades
A ground so bright it splits open your eyes;
Bright like the epiphanies of L. Cohen?
A flash of awareness beneath the disgust
Drowns my vision
All the motes are swallowed
In the blank white expanse.
I glimpse what Cohen saw:
An irradiating silence.