Can you die one time and not know it? Two times? Six?

I think I have. Life comes in fits and spurts for me, you see. I fail to see bits of the past the way most can’t see what is to come. Small clues. Wee hints, you see.

For the most part though, it’s cause I wake up in a grave from time to time. I dig out. I look round the lot. The moon. Some mist. A grave with my name, or the name I gave out to those I met this time, this place, this life.

Some day I’ll stay or go back or some word like that. I’ll ask them how did I die or just why did they put me in the ground. For now, I just go. I move on. I find a new place. I make a new life out of this strange shell that will not stay dead or that odd thing it does that looks like death.

I roll to town in the back of a feed truck, dust on my clothes and hope in my heart. I may live here a long time. I may find answers. I may find love or a new life to keep.

Or I may just die one more time. I hope not.

Odds are though, it won’t be the last.