Fifty Cornish Sunsets

We are called upon to come here,

to cliff, to strand, to hilltop,

summoned to the coast

to make the most of sundown.

With hundreds silently watching

along the littoral, for fifty miles

of the peninsula,

rapt in groups, or alone.

But this is our time always,

you and I, as if sunset

was a show summoned

by our love.

Mocking the godless,

colour poured into the crucible

of the Celtic Sea,

an offering for Manawyddan,

a map of Tir nan Og.

From St Agnes Head to Gwithian,

the orchestra riots in the high

silent atmosphere,

and we come here again and again,

unpaying pilgrims whose only

duty is to witness dumbfounded

and to be in communion

with other day end watchers,

we sentries at the last post of the day,

making the most of the silent

performance as the star vanishes

Into the awestruck sea,

and the green flash finale

at vanishing point

applauding its end.