Awake she stares at the full glowing moon,
Mourning for the death of a child,
Once filled with wonder and imagination,
Realizing where the days have gone by.

Frantically, she digs through the box,
All fragments of the child she mourned for laid inside it.
Tears fall down her cheek.
In the end, she burns it all anyway.

Longing for connection is something she still does, despite everything she did.
Over and over asking the same question, why?
Redoing the same action,
Expecting to get that one unknowable answer.

C•