Ten valves per

Square inch of your personal

Purview, dug in

Flutelike depth to the

Midnight terrain.

From one hundred feet high,

You can feign familiarity.

From cruising altitude,

The yellow-white, red-blue lamplights

Hypnotize.

They float in siloed unison

As bioluminescent snapshots.

They disappear with

Inescapable curvatures

Of horizons and shores.

They flare as vivid tattoos

With pointillist intrigue

Morphing

Into pointed vigilance.

The lights consolidate.

They brace

Against the hidden

Forests and farms.