Found now, belatedly posted now. Lovely, lovely deep poem to enclose. Copper. How many health hazards and deaths for mining this copper, for just having communication lines open for little global advance.
I am a copper wire slung in the air,
Slim against the sun I make not even a clear line of shadow.
Night and day I keep singing—humming and thrumming:
It is love and war and money; it is the fighting and the
tears, the work and want,
Death and laughter of men and women passing through
me, carrier of your speech,
In the rain and the wet dripping, in the dawn and the
A copper wire.
Carl Sandburg, "Under a telephone pole".