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.