I went out with a single lit torch
in hopes of finding myself.
The hounds rummaged through the dark,
frantic and disorderly,
following the scent of vexation—
faint traces of anguish that throw them off the trail.
There's no blood on the leaves,
no scraps of cloth clinging to branches.
I exist in absence, voice withdrawn
The moon hangs low, as if ready
to reach down and aid in my disappearance,
yet she only spills one beam of light—
more seraphic than the flame I carry—
onto a forest floor both full and empty,
where my lifeless body lies.
In acceptance, I turn back,
the hounds crying and whining in despair
at what they've seen.
I'll wake the next morning
to search again for something dead,
hoping she'll be alive
when I finally find her.