Dearest dear, Karma, it has been too long.
Since I have heard your smile; seen your laugh.
I mean to thank you, kindly fate,
for giving me the guiding star
that lead me to this wood.
I sprint between the branches
between the saplings and the briars;
the light flickers between the trees—
my star is fading,

weaving in and out.

I am cut, I am bruised, I am bleeding
and pine needles cling to my skin;
still, I will never catch it.
It is a million miles beyond the forest,
and I stumble to the ground,
to bathe in the dirt and the leaves
that have fallen from the air.

And so I must thank you,
sweet angel, mystic truth,
for you have left me lying here
unsung, unfound, removed.
And my star, oh dear, beloved lie,
has sewn its final root:
woven my destiny into the soil
and disclosed itself to the earthen skies.