codes

 I keep a pad of paper on my desk, prepared

For ideas, thoughts, memories and half-remembered dreams.

Any of those

Are seeds which can be grown,

And some may become odes.

I don’t try to force matters,

I know these things can happen

As if by a will of their own.

Then, one day, I looked at my pad,

And saw than all I had written were codes,

Account numbers, website addresses,

Passwords, computer links.

I had been expending my ink

No to reach any human being,

But so that machine can communicate to machine.

 

So, feeling old and obsolete,

I go out and sit in my garden seat.

The swifts have gone,

The grass has burned dry brown,

And clouds and clouds and clouds pass overhead,

Like ideas, thoughts, memories and half-remembered dreams.

The garden needs rain

But none falls

Perhaps I did not write down the correct code.