excavate

It’s like waking from a strange dream

in a strange place, wearing nothing

you ever wore before— how you know

there’s a story whether the world

worked it out, this built in

repetition backwards to ignition,

the mirror therefore it’s me.

No phone, no ID, this sense

that the three-second delay stalls

the signal to the senses, your name

a where, a when, a reasoned reckoning.

Now here comes the marked-up map, 

the dots on the decision tree, 

the presupposed path you spoke aloud.

The crown of stars,

the roots through the rocks—

there you are here we go.

The dogs charge rings around the yard,

flies taste at scratched skin and raw knees,

the radiance of the dusk

another retelling for the recollection.

Oh, the world knows its part

gifting this hollowed here,

scattering labels and receipts.