past dreams of futures...

past dreams of futures



I was 8 or 9 years old 
I understood my world band radio's 
inner and outer dials 
their hiss and pop crackles 
the frequency tunings spitting 
lightning sounded connections 
I imagined my finger 
on the pulses of time 
in order to breathe in 
a future of broken clocks 
and spoken musical tongues 

that culture is more a word 
for bacterial growth these days 
than our je nais se quoi 
tells us, temperate forests 
have orchestral seasons 
played entirely by insect life cycles 
and how they can be used 
to gauge the authenticity 
of any awe we might exhibit 
catching hold of fleeting magic 
when alone
wishing 
writing 
wanting 
wonder 
in our eyes, still



EJR ©