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Red light in the windshield, shining off the dashboard.
85 miles an hour, 10 mile an hour crosswinds. Tiny glittering shards of ice, snow!- blowing.
A woman's voice from the little black box on the console, "I am no prophet-and here's no great matter".
Red, red, burning bright.

Eyes scanning, jumping around.
Left, right, behind. "And here's no great matter".
Foot down, eyes up.

Red light shining off the dashboard, blinding the eyes.
85 miles an hour, 30 mile an hour cross-traffic. A northern star, twinkling in delight.
A man's voice in the back of the head, "The eyes are not here/There are no eyes here".
Red, red, burning bright.

Foot down. Eyes down.
"Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep; but I am going there to wake him up."
Foot down.

Red light blinding the eyes, "There are no eyes here".
Foot down, head down, at 85 miles an hour. "Wake up!"
"Lazarus, come out," says the bungled, twisted heap of steel and bone.
Snow falling gently on the boulevard, and the moon, slowly concealing a dying star, this dying sun to a distant planet. "Lazarus, come out."