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.

You can read more of Maggie’s writing at The Art of Chewing Crayons