Specks of dust in light

Like falling stars,

Comforting on the worst of nights.

In the headlights of oncoming cars,

Or the dull streetlamp glow.

Moths tremble soft wings,

And drift through the light as though

Floating on an ethereal sea.

It’s dotted with the dust,

Wings slice through,

And must,

This view be true?

Or just a dream, is light real,

Or just some ideal.

Is the dust dust

Or a fabric of sorts, a pixel or static?

This beauty creates a deep mistrust

In reality. Problematic.