After the lights have ceased their wheel what trace remains of the path that once followed their drift when no observe—
“Meltwater bears paths once traced under lights whose slow wheel has since drifted from the bear's fixed gaze. Scorpion lifts its arc across the horizon while quartz cradles what the rivers have not yet swept south.”
“Flint ridges keep the slant of lights that once held north, their grooves now crossing paths where scorpion rises and rivers lay bare the old alignment in receding frost.”
“Ash from ancient fires still carries the imprint of a sky where lights wandered free before any fixed point claimed the north and the scorpion's form rose from the southern haze.”
“Layers of frost once bound the last roar into stillness as the sky's slow pivot drew all trails toward an unseen horizon. What breath lingers in the emptied stone when every trace has been drawn into the sea's hush?”