An unfinished point set in a vast surrounding.
                                               Walt Whitman

“Look!” said the girl
who saw things.
“Where” I asked.
“I see nothing.”
“Twelve o’clock—
a dozen V’s, like threads.
You have to look.”
Then suddenly there—
straight up, like floaters
in the blue, twelve chevrons
scissoring the veil,
too distant to hear,
although I did, I did,
and not only hear,
but see as well—
clear, unquenchable fire
on the wings of those
at the lead. “You also,”
I said, “are among them
in line, aflame, fluid
and effusing… curiously floating.”
“See how quickly they vanish,”
she said, “at the sound
of our voices.”
And then they were gone
like flames that had burned
a hole in the sky and passed
right through.