I keep myself busy in labyrinths excavating reasons why you aren't here,
tapping on hollow bones for answers they don’t have
to questions void-of-course.
I know the soil is spent and yet I dig for what was never there.
Each fistful of dirt flies in the face of the lying moon;
silvered charm exchanged for umbral truth.
Ashes of light grip bitter in my mouth as soil marries tears.
I won’t look up won’t acknowledge the dead rock locked
in darkness and truth but wait for the light of the lying moon,