The Sound of Distant Cars
       

       The sound of distant cars
       passing through the night,
       I have heard before.
       They are the words of others
       murmured beyond knowing
       as the bus jostles through San Diego.
       They are the empty allure of women
       walking late
       on the dirty streets of Newark.
       They are love lost, without explanation,
       seen from afar, 
       arm in arm with a new companion.

       It is sad consolation to know
       the world moves on,
       the rhythm of pavement and tire proceeds,
       that as I pull my car
       from the drive and merge toward the sound,
       for others,
       in dark rooms,
       with curtains drawn and windows parted,
       I, too, travel just beyond speech.


       
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