On the hill, I stand,
looking over city lights,
the false constellations shine,
drowning out true stars bright.

The red serpent travels between,
flashing here and blinking there,
an uninterrupted trip,
but never going anywhere.

Gold and green sparkles,
changing at planned intervals,
in one spot a swirling circle,
spinning pure centrifugal.

Looking up now at the noise,
and more lights streaming by,
the jetliner move in slow motion,
disappears into grounding skies.