Magical Ride

 

The countries of the world are passing over;

seas in sunlight; streamers of islands, far-off volcanic chains

stippled on a serene blue ocean, archipelagos for dreamers;

cumulus snow-covered mountains are towering himalayan

at the edge of my world west and south; burren-coloured foreboding

the continents north and east. My eyes, ships, have travelled

all the world and other worlds; seen more wonders

than all the explorers and all the travellers of myth and legend:

shimmering mountain ranges, the light emitting from within them;

grotesque creatures that evolve as you watch; unimaginable

monsters risen from the deep or birthed from the ribs of the land.

I have seen great curtains hanging from the heavens,

obscuring all of America, and when they’ve cleared

I have seen the fingers of God spread across the universe.

I have seen misty Kyoto on the Donegal hills where sometimes

there’s been nothing, the whole planet obliterated, a void.

All of this is my way of saying, whatever about plane, boat or car,

a seat by a window is a magical ride.