Dearest angel
of the morning,
why are we
estranged? I called
out to you
in my mourning,
but those words
fell by the way.
What could you
have said?
What was left
to be done?
You sit there,
stone-still,
waiting for
something
yet to come.
Are you praying?
To whom do you speak?
There on your grave,
I wonder if you
were always
praying for me.
©️ Obol, 2018.
