Search Lights

Search Lights

The sky can't receive them, not whole.
There is too much dusk, luminous, a city's:
the streetlamps, buildings, cables
all flattened, a cut paper
triangle.
This is neon then, misty fringe
the horizon barely visits.
Instead, a juxtaposition, separate:
the search lights, sky, dimly
sheened steel, a density so awkward
stray angles stick out.
How can such a symmetrical trinity
suddenly feel wrong, the alignment
perfect yet not quite...quite...
Again, look around.
On the ground, withered leaves
circling, circling, their
sound, noticable, motion,
appropriate, aware, a
response far-
reaching, probing
cones, phantom lit, off-
kilter, a syndrome you can't
locate, these search lights know.