The wires sing on and each song is a poem of loss or belonging, the heartbeat and blood of a man in one line or two of a telegram, the dotting and dashing where each message is smashing a life or is not and the wires get hot with the high frequency flow, long ago in another flow when the World was at war, the wires saw and heard things of which they still sing about in another time far removed from the web and the internet ebb.

Across the wide open spaces where the wires tightly laced the Cities together and the songs that they sang rang out loud and clear there is nothing left to see, not even the sockets they pocketed the posts in and as broadband expands there'll be even less to see and no songs sung, the bell has rung for the end of a day.
and Sam goes on his way.