I'm surrounded, these days, by lightbulbs.
The many degrees of brightness
prove me here
where if I gain weight or lose
no one will see to feel sorry
or beg my pardon for asking.
 

I've put aside a store:
more stuff to touch
than fingers can get around.
So it's bright where I burrow
and nobody knows my name
is an idea I'm growing into famously.
 

I don't imagine the city changing
with my absence,
even if one or two see my face
in a flash of lightning
or touch their pockets at my name
or reach in to feel the lining.
 

My trading days chug backwards
and if there's a master at the switch
I have no idea, nor do I miss the action.
When I surface,
my pallor in daylight
will let me come back by stages.