Tempest in the Radio Cable

The tempest grows within the silent radio cable,
an iron breath chews up the silence.
the wires whisper thunder and the air trembles,
a timid light sprouts in the pockets of night.
The lights bloom in the pockets of night,
flashes ready to brush hidden steps.
the city listens, still, to the electric beat,
and we hold between our fingers that small, warm glow.