Crater

Too much success can ruin you,
I’ve heard it said. Look at my face.
Look at the full-blown moon’s gasp
Of astonishment, her lidless ecstasy
The blind side of renown, the silent
Shelving of attention after the race
Is over and the tribute won.

Her own rites had long cooled
When my flame lit under the sea
And Neptune warmed to my ascent.
It took ages. I’ve watched all kinds
Swim, paddle, flutter, fly, become
No one’s idea of “what was meant
To be”. An idea meant for no one.

Friend, I’m not even here. Or if I am
I’m just your voice in a closed room,
Clamouring against torrential dark
Poured out on a hot moonless night.
That isn’t the home crowd roaring.
It is the rocket-ship, the sound
Of visitors who came and went.

Vulcan has left the building.
Some took self-portrait snaps, flashes
Of scalded time. Others kicked stones,
Looked at survival’s great endeavour
And, unimpressed by dust, turned
Round to find a world behind them,
Glowing, dawning, radiantly lost.