To the Others

I see you, refulgent ones, Burning so steadily Like big white arc lights... There are so many of you. I like to watch you weaving-- Altogether and with precision Each his ray-- Your tracery of light, Making a shining way about America.

I note your infinite reactions-- In glassware And sequin And puddles And bits of jet-- And here and there a diamond...

But you do not yet see me, Who am a torch blown along the wind, Flickering to a spark But never out.