By the Light of the Lying Moon

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,

for you.

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