Still

We are, everchanging

like the floater views the landscape

rolling on, in reverse, to the eye

an optical illusion.

Yet we are, paused, in sun, rain or fog

incrementally moved, even at stoplight

slipping backwards, as the adjacent trucker

pulls our impatience, by the collar,

an illusion so real, it breaks the heart

The way we are, stuck in the traffic of the stars.