God sits outside your house, in a black car, with the motor running.

Eternity is but a fraction of the solemn spin
Of bundled pinwheels of the distant stars
That fill the blackness of the void that God and we are in
A blackness matched by countless blackened cars
That carry us from birth to death to destinies unseen
The driver asking nothing in return
Along the way the driver says, his voice soft and serene
Now look about you, tell what you discern
You say the stars are brighter than the lights upon the lake
Where swans sing of the magic of the spheres
And what was crystal clear before is now dark and opaque
And what was once our joys is now our fears
And so it is, the driver says, the swans are never wrong
They sing of what you are and what you’ve been
We’ll sit awhile in this black car and listen to their song
And after which your journey will begin