Greetings, friends. I go to the call #6 of the Theinkwell Poetry Challenge, assuming in my poem (in the style of "prose poem") the option 1: nervous.

You can find the rules of the challenge in the following link.

Question

How to write from this interrogated living.
The ashes of my worried heart are there on the same ground where the moon leaves its fleeting and fragmented mirror.
The question does not leave me.
Perhaps I am the question that the light of each day asks me.
And writing is the form that blinds me in its path, in its search for way out.

Thank you for your reading.