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Driving to LAX at 4 am

The streets are filled with Silence,
her nearly visible form
moving down dark hours.
I pass a van whose driver rushes
to empty his containers of old news,
only to fill them with new and desperate things,
like father # 6 coming forward
to claim a little girl whose glamourous mother
died in wonderful mystery.
I pass the sweepers of the road,
their giant brooms spinning round
to capture the flotsam of modern pirates
who sail concrete in ships of steel -
their booty, stocks and bonds
and pension plans.
My son is waiting with packed bags.  
We leave his wife sleeping,
we talk of nothing urgent as we drive.
He will sing tonight in Florida,
I will sleep in California.
Silence will steal into both our rooms,
touching us with dreams of flight,
whispering his a-cappella lullabies in my ear,
leaving my kiss upon his stubbled cheek.

16 Feb 07

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