Vancouver Sunset

The ocean boils out into the west
Framed by peninsulas that almost seem
Islands themselves, trapped by the mainland lest
Its ornaments be fleeting as a dream.
The mountains rear above the darkened slopes
Whose trees are shielded from the falling sun
From whom the final tendril slowly gropes
To make the sea and sky appear as one
Melted together in an orange embrace.
The ships that shadow as they cross the sky
Appear to dawdle. But their well-worn trace
Is faster than it seems. So by and by
The sunlight fades. And yet beyond False Creek
An orangeness still illuminates a peak.