Leading to the romance of radiowaves.
Leading to broadcasts
of the nightly news sent
through thickening televised air.
Now every high point holds
finger-antennae pointing at holes
in the atmosphere,
every low point a ringing,
buzzing baby or ball and chain, and
every cloud a vagabond star.
As night falls,
the violent vibrations cease,
towns twinkle out, rooms regain their shadows,
lives their silence.
All processes stop; copper wires rest.
Oh, to be there, to watch the charges dip low,
to hear the transformers sleep:
A dull, static valley, a lull, a silent song
composed of soft voices,
of the deep and distant horns of
of syncopated sirens speeding off into darkness.
In day, microwaves and fields blanket
and we hum along
in sleepy and sterile wakefulness,
in a charged and blank state;
but oh, to be there, to watch
this highest hum
turn to a staccato trickle,
as if conducted to sotto voce;
then can whispers win,
breaking over the silent earth