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.