I dug a hole
with a spoon.
Stainless steel twists of
Pain.
The Earth piling into heaps,
like mountains of weight.

I lit the candle,
placed it in Earth.
I began the second hole:
Cradle
for the seed,
the ‘could-have-been’.

Scribbled some words,
Folded the page-
Muddy, smudged:
Tears
from the jawline,
clutched, into the ground.

Marked the bulbous
round of the spoon-
Tombstone.
Grief drizzled grave,
sized for fit.
Softly closing the wound.