As fairies for the Irish or leeks for Welsh,it’s the secret lives of small hidden machines,their junctures, and networks that inspire me:Mystic hidden functionaries that makeour made world live, brave little servo motors,whose couplers, whose eccentric fire-filledsensors are encased in bakelite with brassscrews, who stare with red eyes, who gauge moisture,who notice tiny motions and respond,whose cooling fans call out in white-noiseregisters like older folk singers–I canalmost hear their earlier songs, their strong voicesnow yelps, their thumps, their throbs, their hum, their chant–,they click, they whir, they are sent spinninginside like teen girls giggling over boy bands.Most of all: ones waiting silently, concealingthe surprise of their purpose, tasks not yet known,their true natures found only in connections.Those that listen, those that speak,those that control cool and heat,those that open doors, those that lockall the things that we’ve forgot,those that hide, those that disclosethose embedded in our clothesthose in our ears, those in our heartsthose that bring together, those a partof divisions, those like birds,like parrots that complete our words,those like fish, those that entrap,those that free, those that freely flapin fierce winds, those that replacewhat we have lost, those that seeat night, in fog, in brightness, in fear,those that show what we hold dear,those that tempt, those that repel,those that buy and those that sell,those that keep us alive, those thatdon’t, won’t, couldn’t and cannot.Parts of one mind, not mine, blunt orchestraof information, bundles of feelersreaching out to touch us, teach us, guide usto form better futures better understood.May your sounds, your chimes, your silence calm us.May your tender tendrils touch what we seek.Small parts becoming one being intertwined,a world in itself, remind us to be kind.
