Daughter, wake up.
you've fallen asleep
in the sea again, can you not
hear the plaintive cries of gulls?
your dreams do not hail ships,
the moon pools
at your feet.
Daughter, get up. I’m sorry
I only charm you to sleep
for your safety, but world has turned,
and you must see the wonders of these times.
the candles have burned
themselves down, but what need
have we of candles? a sea
of glass now lights our vision.
even on this empty isle, speakers,
remote yet so intimate, whisper
in our ears. today, in the space
of an hour, I was cast the potted history
of our author long dead,
let yourself speed
techward child, compute
and learn from this land,
our connection.
Wake up child, you are needed.
I understand nothing of this rabble
but the pursuit of drama.
screens that babble, I cannot brook
the wooden weight of every speech
cracks under its own pride.
the tide has turned on me:
around my neck tighten strands of news
my girl — I think I’ve really got the blues.
see now on distant shores,
heads wizen like soft stone cliffs,
and in each nook and niche
phobias lay eggs like swifts!
perhaps I do not communicate, fail
to conjure the true picture, words
lost in the moan of the storm.
too long on this isle alone,
my fingers grow strong
but how weak my voice!
Your newness to this daughter
May permit you insight
what it is here, to be alive.
