I’m standing in a graveyard &/or at the end of a long, dark road.

The ash-swept trees are barren &/or budding, pendulous &/or rigid.

The time is uncertain. There’s a sense that so much life has passed &/or

so much of it will follow. Through distant silhouettes, the horizon is visible.

A pinkish &/or fiery hue washes over the sky. The sun’s great, smelt skull

is vanishing &/or just beginning to arrive. Will I go backward &/or

persist in this direction? At my feet are many stones etched with names

I don’t recall. The earth seems swollen &/or pregnant with life. How

it shifts, gently, to accommodate the armadillo &/or star-nosed mole

in their ambitions, built upon &/or within the constellations of bone.

I feel my sins have been forgiven &/or forgotten. Is this possible? I am here

&/or I am elsewhere. The present is a dream from which I can’t wake up.