i stand miles above and from town,
observing the little specks of pure white and monarch orange lights;
some lights cluster and kiss,
while some run and hide between botany.
through the lens of logic,
these lights are stationary.
through the lens my naked eye,
these lights flicker and shake.
i internally debate
whether the town is prodding at some inside joke
to mock me and test my suspension of belief,
or whether my eyesight really is awful,
filtering the lights in the violet valley
where it seems like they could almost spark out of existence.
i don’t know
which i’d rather be aware of.
my sense is at a limit,
for it’s much more harder to justify the light
than define the darkness.