Etheric E-Mail

Where stylus
once inscribed pictograms
– scarabs of thought –
and then alphabets;
where quills
sculpted elegant curls
and where type
still presses

in the book
– former stele and scroll –
of who’s naughty
or nice, and spellings;
here, where the mind
frames memories, notions
techne has
always played.

Its new trick
is etheric e-mail.
Mine arrives
as I wake; my eyelids
its screen, I look in
on Outlook.
At light-speed
phrases glow;

promise death
to our old ink-mad dreams.

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