But One of the Seven Wonders

Won’t be lit up
with LED lights
after civil twilight dies
another daily death. Tomorrow’s

reincarnation won’t be
so famous if Crash
has his way. And we all do
when we speak

the repurposed truth
at the mouth
of some river
or bottom of a canyon

no one remembered
to name.

Pocket Dial It In

What’s to become
of the Carnegie—its proud
welcome in columns and fire

places, not flexible
enough to withstand e-books’
mid-morning LED yawn. Even question

marks lose ground as text dispels
subtext contorts context contrives
textile streams this side

of the muddy—I’m gone.
Am arrivals in line with departures
without delay 80% of the time.

Linen II

A weaver dreams of LED lights laced
into her cloak for a nighttime ride. I prefer
my draping fibers unadorned over
my shoulders, or at the bottom
of my cup first thing
in the morning. I do not deny
her those visions—my own constellations
glimmer in the banjo
of that Otis Taylor song
playing after dark.