i found the last radio
out among the forgotten things;
it’s insides empty
but the smooth mahogany body intact.
i carried it home
and kept it beside my bed,
each night pressing my ear
to it’s cool cavity to hear
the sound of pines trees
blowing back and forth
or the sloshing of black waves
pulling me to sleep
some nights it would howl
like storm winds
through a damp cave,
other nights i’d wake
to the clatter of it across the floor
and swear i’d see some shape,
light as a fox,
slip from it’s shell
into the shadows of the room.
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