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The delicate dance
Of circling stars:
They hover over the site
In some strange conjunction,
Some new constellation.
They slowly descend
As new stars quickly arise.
From this distance
It seems they will collide—
But my sense of depth is lost in the night.
As they approach they seem to stand still,
Only the beacons grow brighter,
Then flash, flicker,
As they turn on final approach.

The city lights obscure the real stars:
Shimmering ribbons follow the highways,
A glowing blanket illumines the runways.
So many travelers following these man-made stars!
It is a beautiful scene—
But we have lost sight of so much.
Our magi are too busy creating artificial ones
To follow the true Light.

Light(n)ing bugs A Sense of Place Rain-stained