If I listen closely,
I can hear it.
Hear it in the swell,
in the foam,
in the salty droplets that land on my face,
even in the cries of the gulls
beating their white wings overhead.
The strong steady thrum
of distant lands
calling
calling
calling
rippling forever through the depths
like a record on repeat,
going around and around and around
until someone finally hears it
and lifts off the needle.
‘Message received,’
I whisper.
