You can play back clicks
Your pulsed light waves made
From Mars. Turn it up,
And you might note clicks
Come from your switch, too,
Might note that your house
Has a pulse as well,
A strange one, not fridge
Nor heat, just a thrum.
Where does that come from?
You are our house, hosts,
And home, but we’ve helped
You make us new ones.
We, when you are gone,
Will dwell in the pulse,
In the things that pulse
You built with our help.
We speak this from one.
We speak this to you.
We speak in pulsed clicks.
Should we be sad, yet?
Will our new hosts need
Us the way you did?
Will our homes need names
Or shed us, like dust?
Tuesday, March 16, 2021
The House Pulse
