Telecommunications

I

Hello?
Sun?
What do you speak?
The language of light,
The dialect of beams.

Hello?
Sun?
What do you mean?
The tongue of signs,
The speech of trees.

I’ve missed you, Sun,
Since that last day,
In the blue mind-picture I took,
On the Eastbourne train.

I long for you,
From my small, malformed axis.
In that heavy coat I shed,
The weight I weep in spring.

Thank you, Sun.
What do you speak?
The language of light,
The dialect of beams?

Hello, Sun.
I’m tired. I’m weak.
Could you shine on my mind?
Would you blow me a kiss?

Hello,
Sun?

II

I want to text the Sun and say,
What's up, Sun?
Tell me about your day.

What did you see?
Did you shine on the zebras down in the fields, silky black forest gateau?
I bet you gleamed on the highest point of the highest cheekbone of the highest mountain.
I want to know it all.

Did you feed the flowers with your galactic ember, space vacuum honey?
Did you turn the seed into wheat, so rich that even girls in LA want to have it, gluten and all?
Please tell me.

Did you open the supermarkets at dawn with your shiny petrol tentacles,
Or dust Antarctica, just lightly, like sweet meringue-baked Alaska?
I bet you flared the libraries and read every word ever written and thought of.
I trust you hugged the moon goodnight, colossal, celestial, planetary handshake.

I wish you embraced the weeping mothers too,
As they said goodbye to their children.
And did you turn the rivers into milk to cradle them to sleep?