They found your phone
By the river where we’d searched for you
The screen cracked in abstract violence
Mum slowly thumbs the face
As if to coax out an Avatar
From a universe, back-lit
And built along fractal fissures
A cosmic web in miniature
Mum is a glassy-eyed shaman
Staring three feet into the past
Dousing for you
I am no mystic
I can only observe
Waiting for a breakthrough
I’ve never felt time accumulate this way
In acutely painful significance
The crushing weight of absence
Each day a backward birth
I wonder if you’re in Limbo too