The smooth earthly elements and the dull elapsed pulp flow back to my form and gather. The birds change me and major shifts of sound, and the earth by thrusts of its plains...

On the verge of wounding myself 
and hearing myself,
now that I'm full of 
sprouts and quite eyelids,
when I have my time of birth
in which the temporal bones descend,
when I name myself for myself,
silent,
and someone I'm not already remembers me,
weeping and bleeding at half height
over what is stopped
exposed
and then restored.