The Crystal Radio of Heaven

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On these days
When the gravitational pull of sad moon tides
Insinuates trouble below
My life becomes the 
regulated flow 
of memory air 
Whose chemistry is 
equal parts
Distant triumphs
And the stampede of regrets
Which I breathe 
in
And 
Expel
out
Like a cliff diver’s 
exhale 
And then
All I want to do is float
in the shadows
Of the ocean floor
And stare up at the sky
Because I know 
that is where
My eavesdropping parents
Are eternally bound
To the crystal radio of heaven
Which converts 
the electromagnetic impulses 
of our grown up unhappiness
Into a language that they are fluent in
Which I am convinced
must sound 
Exactly like us
When we were 
fitful 
In our
Cribs
And wanting a glass of water
By mostly
Mostly
them.


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