Alighting there, on the aeonium preparing to bloom:
[the sound of the mockingbird mocking the purple finch,
the new Alt+J plays on the radio, an eastbound flight
has left LAX, the neighbor takes the trash out, leafblower
somewhere, distant hiss of noon on Sepulveda, the terror
of the terriers accross the street spotting the skateboarder
shouting at his cellphone] the eyes can see the sunlight
in a form so precise it can move the mind to silence.