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.



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