push
We dip into the ether, searching for traces of one another.
I don’t understand how my phone works;
How this glossy rectangle of plastic and glass and metal
Can throw its lifeline into the icy blackness every few minutes,
Hoping to snag the flailing hand of a small bundle from a sea of radio waves.
Or how that tiny bundle,
Once caught and dragged gasping in,
Can rearrange itself into a string of numbers.
Or even how those numbers turn and tumble joyously together -
Faster than comprehension -
And morph into a quiet beep
And a single love-heart on the screen next to your name,
Making me smile.
© mjc 14 August 2017
