Germinated Letters

In the shell of the forgotten radio
the dust holds a breath
and the shadow breathes among silent relays.
Lost letters beat like small hearts
they graze the paint and trace a sound page
speaking in alphabets of wind and copper.
They germinate on the edges among spent wires
seeds of words open slits of silence
transforming the surface into a garden of voice.
Every beat becomes a phrase that breathes
the shell finds a hidden language
and the radio turns on again, telling tomorrow.