The phantom leaves traces

parachutes

propellers on high

a tiny check mark

seen at 7:18.

I knew the phantom as flesh and bone

raven curls

eyes stolen from the sea.

Letters and words over years and miles

left to wither

into the dead silence

of space.

The universe doesn’t give a whit about the phantom

nor me

nor you.

It hurtles us

into each other

into stellar bodies

into nothing at all.

I knew the phantom for an instant

flashes of bicycles

shaved legs

tender smiles.

Now

only silence

tied

but drifting

straining that fine thread.

The phantom’s cares

fear? aversion? revulsion?

cloaked

unknown.

The universe’s cares as open as sky

casting stones that burn through atmospheres

toxic interstellar clouds

brilliant stars now deathly black holes.

Don’t let us be a black hole, dear phantom.

Don’t let us disappear

not while we still have breath.

Speak

speak of fear

speak of wonder

speak of sky

speak of waves

speak of any thing

just speak

before you can’t

before I can’t

before the universe

renders us two dust motes in the cosmos

unremembered

unbound.

Colleen Sohn