I can see much more.

I can see much more of the universe here in this beige suburb.  Black gum trees and dogwoods and kudzu have been mostly cleared except around the perimeter.  The town is still a ways off and over the highways that stretch and cross over each other to form a crossroad.  There’s a train track that runs behind the houses across the street, and occasionally I hear a string of freight cars pass.  Sometimes a plane sails far overhead, low enough to see wings and all.  Mostly, though, there are just these beige model homes and dollar green cars stacked neatly in driveways.  

Therefore, I can see much more of the universe at night.  Neither red nor orange neon impedes the darkness.  No hawkers break the silence with salacious propositions, as I might have heard walking along Iberville.  There is nothing to distract the universe from itself.  The beige seems almost a sign of reverence or of obeisance or of deference.  

Mars is low and spinning and casting off light like a single buzzing bulb on an old-fashioned sign that otherwise burned itself out long ago.