No need for me once we’re on the net,
are a wave to be surfed on, have gone world-wide.
No awkward engines to curate
but templates which never knew a tide.
And if TV signals are never lost
but flare round the world until a mind
receives them, then surely this e-mail will last
much longer than paper. Fast-forward, rewind
are history. Let the servers serve
their megabyte karma in encoded air.
Long live the roll of the mouse, the curve
of choices made when I won’t be here.
Then nobody’ll tell us where we’ve just been
but we’ll make our own history, piece by piece,
be free to improvise and glean
our version, far from chronicle police.
But on monitors the bands of rain
sweep in, interference on our charts.
Remember the real matters more than the known.
Unforecast snow falls softly in our hearts.