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Show Moon - 226 going a little over the speed limit, swooping around the semi's, timing it just so between a rattling trailer on the left and a crawling old-man Continental on the right. The man in the red Lexus is honoring me, for every time I pull out to pass, he passes too, keeping a respectful distance, as if he's saying, "I love the way you drive. I will follow you." It's a kind of love affair. It makes me expansive, and I feel that everyone I've loved is with me dancing to a song that sings in the blood of one body. There's one more story to go. Soon, Mother, it'll be no contest. You'll have outdistanced me by miles, by light years, gone so far I won't find your voice again, won't be able to follow you. Will it be as they say-a tunnel emerging into light so brilliant everything vanishes except the images of the purest love? What tongues of flowers will you see? What fine lace curtains? What fire flaring up at last? In her haste to board the next possible train-for Alice had called, saying, "Come immediately"- Joy ran from the taxi through the crush of people in Grand Central Station. In an agony of dread, she danced and darted, leaping, twisting, her body threading through the crowd like a waterspout. There was something gone wrong with the signals, the conductor said. The train kept stopping, then crept along, stopped again. Joy clenched her fists |