The bar between The Gugh and St Agnes
seen from St Agnes
The bar is wide, the weather calmer than before.
The cove beats incessantly.
Perconger’s calm.
Few in the space look that grey. Each is fair
or pallid.
It is all whitish.
Sun’s bright.
Little contrast. Detail is difficult to find .
Is this an effect of light? or of bleaching?
of other weathering? perhaps disturbance
bringing more stone to the beach?
And thick strands
and tangles of seaweed. At the porth edge,
some rocks are almost black with weed, and some
almost submerged by it. At the cove edge,
especially to the east, rocks, lichen brown
pile up.
Between those two darknesses
are whisperings, almost electrical
in kind and strength; smooth sand or ragged stone
which, in dazzle, could be small broken shells;
and, yet, imagine a change of eyes’ angle,
observers, being seen, disclose differences.
The bend of dimness at the full south edge,
breaks out patchily into the white as if
black had been spat, albeit from a giant mouth.
Identify the evidence; and pause;
consider many possibilities.
Undoubtedly, closer looking dispels
the illusion of discharge. One must think so,
in lieu of a big oral cavity.
If one appears, then we must improvise.
All of us. The cowards, the wise, the brave,
the indolent, the uninvolved, ignorant,
and fools, all of me, huddled here, waiting.
The eastern coast of the porth is dark, hardly
the tombolo, part of The Gugh itself,
spotted by grey stones partly buried in growth;
and, between that and the emitted incursion,
greyness an oddity, darker than smashed
colour, all shading dimly steadily towards
the sea.
Near sands are patchily bright.
Near black
on each coast; but perspective dominates
and restricts the visibility.
Whiteness
fails variegated with few night stones.
There are many small bits, which increases
a faceting of the whole. They sparkle:
probably mica’s high-reflectivity.
The sands are heavily trodden; flattening; barren.
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