At three AM, the wires began to sing.
A silver moth circled the dial.
The station had been dead for seventeen years, yet someone was breathing through the miles.
A map was pinned beneath the glass with one red road that wasn’t there, and on the tape, a woman’s voice was
counting footsteps on the stairs.
I turned the dial from west to east, past broken names and numbers lost.
A whisper slipped between the waves.
Tomorrow
is calling me
from somewhere
under the sea.
A silver moth circled the dial.
The station had been dead for seventeen years, yet someone was breathing through the miles.
A map was pinned beneath the glass with one red road that wasn’t there, and on the tape, a woman’s voice was
counting footsteps on the stairs.
I turned the dial from west to east, past broken names and numbers lost.
A whisper slipped between the waves.
Tomorrow
is calling me
from somewhere
under the sea.