The cacophony of gulls stops suddenly
as if rehearsed – and the sunlight on the beach
of stones becomes denatured, theatrical.
The moment lasts, lasts – a suspense of time
for the five of us alone on the shore
of that inlet older than counting.
Step by step the old sun returns, warming
the stones tonight’s high tide will cover.
We can hear distant bird song from the headland –
a wood pigeon’s wistful notes – and I,
like some resuscitated prophet,
acknowledge aloud that my sceptical heart
and soul are not entirely immune
to wonder or to awe.
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By David Selzer