One would say there is none, but there is
In the sun on the dash of the car stuck
In roadwork congestion leaving Las Vegas.
The animal knows what makes for peace
Even if the soul, that amorphous revenant
Of revenants, flitting from skull to skull,
Never finds a moment of repose. Calm
Is an animal phenomenon, and a human
Is still an animal, even if a haunted one.
This body at rest in this automobile, in this
Nest of machines and machines, does not,
For these moments, hurt and sets aside,
By studying the bright light on the dust,
All the usual folderol of dread. No one will
Ever persist where the animals are going,
No one will ever perish where they are.
The future is only that mysterious gravity,
That nothing that richly provides us with
An unending procession of things ending, with
Our fresh and ever-changing pasts. Drive on.
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