I ask myself driving home,
just hung-up with my parents.
Sun setting behind me,
Makes mesquite trees shorter
while their shadows grow longer.
I listen to a conversation
between tires and asphalt,
murmuring something I cannot
quite discern with the windows up
and the air conditioning.
Like mom and dad in their room
watching TV after all the lights
are off and a child falls asleep
dreaming in voices without words
and words without meaning
and meaning without searching.
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