The hair on my arm shivers,
rippling like fur in hot wind.
I hold my hand out
the window,
over the interstate railing,
notched and curved like an animal spine.
Two tree lines tunnel me through,
the road pointing up
at the sky,
an array of creatures.
Each distinct,
with a face, a tail.
There’s a whole genus,
a whole Kingdom.
A man reads from Ezekiel,
on the AM radio.
There’s Living Creatures so tall, that they are
dreadful,
four faces each, fur and wings
covered in eyes.
They suffer unto me
how God will be forever.
I look
up at these beings.
I know that when I die,
it won’t end.
That when the world passes away,
it won’t end.
It goes on.
Like if my car were to break down now,
how it would be such a long way back home.
The road keeps looking up,
seeing which one will run out first,
the path or the sky.
Neither ever will.
They loop around.
We never notice,
even when we pass away from here.
By then, heaven and earth will know
the same creatures.
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