A zirconium string: the Plymouth road
clusters with headlights, lures the quiet passenger up from wordless thoughts.
Sparkle is created here, of a sort that will not rival
any star: a mundane piece of loveliness: shine in a domestic setting.
In the cars whole other lives drive by houselights of
more lives.
Something about that passing, that unknowingly shared
point of time and space: the emotive commonplace in all lives.
Up the Tavistock hill they drive, looking behind them
at the axled bling of carnival rides, hear the faint squeals from Goose Fair.
You sure write good! There is a stroboscopic effect at work in your description that is absolutely stunning. Each still tableau is composed of opposing motions, momentary glimpses.
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