Leto

she was born going downhill, on a waning gibbous 

already phasing into less of itself. 

it is no wonder she wasn’t here long. 

the closer the new moon crept, the more tired

she became. and aren’t we all headed there, 

somewhere? a path of gnarled hands and otherworldly

fatigue. should I count myself lucky that I saw her 

glowing against the night sky, 

as short lived as a lunar moth?

Hemera holds longer stake in a day than my

mother had in her whole life, it seems.

and she didn’t even make it to deipnon, 

sky dark with a wet moon.

she left us on a sickle.

how fitting. 

-dawn waning