By Claire Watson
I imagine it floating along the radio waves.
Static thrumming through it – white noise blotting out sweet nothings.
| Left Angle Bracket Three. |
I imagine it like a seagull, floating atop a deep, dark sea.
Love letters scrawled into its beak – smashing mussels against buoys,
| that are telephone poles – | ||
| that are radio masts – | ||
| that are satellites twirling through stars. |
Seemingly little and seemingly soft.
Pulls our land together – like thread through a seam.
| Piercing the stream. |
Emoticons swirl down its bones.
So at last we might raise our heads and touch – fingertips flitting off screens,
| to caress hair – | ||
| to caress skin – | ||
| to caress what space seeks to divide. |
But the ether yearns to be filled.
Darkness longs for moons to pull the tide – the sea longs for its gulls.
| Return to the buzzing waves. |
But now, it carries a message: Colon Close Bracket.
Left Angle Bracket Three – Typed across the empty sea.
| Our lands drift – | ||
| Our phones ping – | ||
| Our goodbyes melt into “see you soon.” |
So long, my Left Angle Bracket Three.
