231 Indigo Lane
At Fair Point, nets dot the docks.
The neighbors leave
invitations in each other’s mailboxes: Adverts for
BEACH CLEANUP Rockhounder’s Agate ID
Smoked Salmon Potluck (side dish signup sheet attached).
Sheets flutter on the line, hyaline to a robin-shell sky.
In a swirl of code taller than a cumulonimbus cloud above the sea
-facing cliff,—that’s where to address your (e)letter.
Write to: 231indigolane@fairpoint.net
The recipient will receive your digital envelope
from the chapped hands of a screen-faced mailman
who wore blue uniforms in the 90s.
They’ll click their hands over non-paper, non-tearing
the correspondence free to read it right there
in the salt-flung garden they tend:
Yarrow Sea thrift Evening primrose Twin flower
Golden chinquapin Silk-tassel Wild ginger
Wax-Myrtle Beach strawberry Tulip breaking Vancouverias
Send me your address.
How can I contact you? Physical
and virtual brushes chance viruses all the same.
Still, will our words ever trace each other’s fingertips, make contact
with the ocean spray
on Indigo Lane?
