All night, on the opposite shore,
The lights of McCrystals glitter.
You could walk on water
To get there, and be drowned,
Or take the long way round,
Where a million instants
Shatter and die on the windscreen -
Late summer insects, flecks of rain
Melting into each other again -
And change is the only constant.
There, where sky and water meet
And none are strangers to themselves
Or the land beneath their feet,
McCrystal, quietly stacking shelves,
Open infinitely late
On the universe, picks you out
From the fixed and wandering stars
Of sailmakers cottages, nightbound cars -
Forever approaching, the only man
Driven by supernatural doubt.
Everything mortal shies away.
The horse in foal, and the fox
Dead in your headlights, oozing blood,
Glittering back an evil eye,
You too, my friend, will have to die ...
And the goddesses, the gods,
Of summer - girls, bare-midriffed,
Riding shotgun through the moonroofs,
Running the double gauntlet
Of boyfriends and the temperance squad.
The forecourt of his filling station
Blazes like broad daylight.
Ask - have you travelled all this way
Past trees and people, gable ends
Turning black on a western sky,
To cash a cheque? Or shatter the veil
Of phenomena? His Holy Grail
Is sand and futures, factory-floors,
Grazing rights on an airfield
Overgrown since the last World War ...
Everything everyone needs he stores,
As self-contained as a man-god
In the aftermath of creation.
Anything else, from the farther shore,
Is optical, an illusion.