Thank you, my friend, to another year.
We keep going, this rare page a guide
from the poets passed. Have you seen
a future fixed in sand? Have you set yourself
within it?

Nothing here is immortal, not even our horror.
The world will change but not
without consequence. I would like
to meet it with you, as artists,
words and ink pressed like our hands
through the roots.

I would like to stay here,
past the pain. I would like to stand
with you in the trees, stretching
toward the lingering stars.