they solar hop
on walls of clock
drifting
the infinite
with no sunrise
or moon's grey glow

they shoo and woo
but no outside
or sky

no apple tree
or bee
flower
or grassy wind
ocean
or boat
or sand to dig


sound orbits eyes
and vocals
mouth

tongues their words
and flibbertigibbets
in the moan
of mind


bang
boom
beep

bong
chink

ching
ding dong


their sea
the stars

their ocean
the black
of space

their beauty
the fission
of odorless
lights

their mother
the mechanical
console

father
the glow
of myth


children
will ask
of earth

no stories

nothing
to tell

too far away to see
to touch and feel
to walk in a meadow


life
will be the same
today
as yesterday


what kind of poem
will they
wright

like 17th century
18
19
or 20th

will it speak
of love on a
console

or a kiss
of numerical
messages

and while they love
cast their language
on the silent stars

or their sighs
on the blink
of an image of colors


will they know
our comma
our period

our capital letters

our grammars

will they speak
rocketeer

or spaceship lingo

or something
evangelic
from far off planets


like all things
poetics are changin'

and we will change
with them
also

or forever be known
as just

a niche