Lyrics

At the mouth of the river, Moon, stars, an Arctic calm, The twin lights at the end of the piers Revolving with the smoothness We expect of supernatural machinery. Seen from down here on the beach The harbored ocean slowly tilts, Like a mirror discreetly manhandled By night from the giant room It was supposed to occupy forever. The mind says now, but the stars On their angelic gimbals roll And fade, a tide of constellations Breaking nowhere, every night About this time. Strike up the band. In the tumbledown bar, the singer Has fallen from stardom and grace, But though her interests nowadays Are wholly secular, she can Still refer back to the angels, And knowing that song, we share A moment with the saved before We leave to make the crossing. No captain, no ferry, but Cross we shall, believe you me.