Much here is caked in dust. Dust-skinned dogs and dust-skinned horses. Dust-coated houses in ruin, the staccato of ruins, the oldlife song of decay, dreams move sluggishly here at the pace of dust, the swirling eddies of dust, dust in the eyes and ears and nostrils, sunbaked granules of dust, fine stinging granules of dust, the cracking reign of dust popping and sputtering, the dust on the boots of the soldiers passing by in jeeps, the dust on the sandals of the saints walking the streeta unseen, part of an invisible parade, a fiesta not meant for human eyes (but oftentimes felt by human hearts and human spirits), sad dust days and salad days of dust (the lettuce parched and coated in granules, crunch crunch)….

It is hard to walk on different timelines all at once, it takes a lot of balancing… I am here, I am yesterday, I am tomorrow….