I dreamed I was buried.
A massive rock, oh so slowly,
settled over me, pinning me to the ground,
preserved in a crevice the size of a coffin.
I thought, “I will die here.”
I thought, “it will take days to die.”
I thought, “I can spend my time panicking or meditating.”
I thought, “no one will ever know which I chose.”
And that last was the worst.
On Elk Meadow Road 