One last

a poem, a phone call

When I called for one last
whisper, did the love twist
through wires under heaving
seas, sizzling through
a system of synapses complex and
irreplaceable
to find you in another time
zone where your own branching
network had bloomed
with tiny, malignant seeds?
Or
did the love spin through
space and time, out of this atmosphere
blinding, light, and
weightless as the air still
whispering into your lungs,
ephemeral as the concept of you
as you began
one last journey?

Writing and Illustration © Trisha Traughber 2019

this piece is published in response to inkMend’s August prompt:

“Goodbye”