Is it morning or is it night

Between the dark and the light.

The day has passed

Into the our earth,

Beyond the reach

of hands, it falls like ash

into the fire of our eyes

that burn with truth.

In the bottom of this well,

our lies of peace did dwell

in a place and time,

a distance measured

remains unknown.

Yet we reach for signs--

maps made from stones

arranged to comfort and console

A grief-given birth

taking shape from the hollows

in the landscape of our soul.