And at Land’s End, the land did.

With just one whale breaching
offshore,

as if conjured up by
the commotion on the beach, 

not causing it.

Unassuming, 
barnacled and gray,

in alien skin, unaware
of the sunburnt

hordes of tourists, all
peeling red and 

mas cerveza.
Memory tends

to improve a place:

The scale of a sunset
over granite.

Similarly, the landscape
of some faces.