Its thinnest ribbon of light, gleaming only ever so slightly.
Slips through the subconscious, existing no more than the leaves that fall on an Autumn day;
Animated only by external disturbances. Influences, perhaps.
As if the stars
are engulphed in,
The city sky.
Their targeted direction.
That wide eyed shock.
Deer in the headlights; freezing in the moment for far too long;
When in truth, the world was still moving.
Just as time reliably dictates.
If you push and I pull, we do nothing?