All the lonely insignificant supermen
marooned on
the planet must
feel, each time
earth's chromeyellow sun
stumbles down, flickers
of the sheer power-
lessness inherent
to such a cosmic and
ungodly bravery.
Where are all those
good helpless
bright-eyed and light-brimming
old flames
of ours? they must wonder.
We can no longer
see them. Why won't they
wave?
But what good? would
all the flints
and the wicks
and the matchsticks
in the universe be, any-
way—when
there's no
day
to save.