visceral

years ago
a Stranger dug a pit
in the soft earth of my mind
and it was in that excavation
where the branches of events were thrown
and burned
charring the pit beyond recognition
or repair
and now
when I return to that site
everything returns
the anger the hope the hate the embarrassment the shame the sadness
everything returns but the branches themselves
because that’s how the universe
and the arrow of time
function…
entropy and chaos and
forward,
always forward