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.