If lights could speak
The lights of the planes get lost the stars
And the twinkle is mirrored in the house lights
And streetlights down below.
Each one has a million stories to tell
Locked in burning gasses and
Shimmering filaments.
A business-suited man on his way to Chicago,
A mother putting her child to bed,
A sweaty-palmed man with full pockets
Beneath a street lamp.
Each more important than
Any odyssey or lyric put to 4/4 time.
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