The sowing is over.
In someone’s garden. In someone’s furrow. Someone holding a hoe. Someone’s kidney. Someone’s blood cell.
Plod ploddingly. Why did you come? To someone’s land. Humming any song. Chinese lantern plants and intestines. Eggs and corneas. Gallbladders and dried livers.
What will grow? We wait.
We hide in someone’s straw. Why did you come? Why did you come? Through someone’s tight spot. Look, look. Hot air hums. The dirt is psyched. It’s buzzing.
In the liver are raw liver and dried liver. The dried liver has sacred breath. It’s called Ihiyotl. A species introduced from across the sea.1
In the intestines are large and small intestines. The big intestines are said to be life infested. Are said to be twisted.2
Why are you here? Why are you here? I don’t know how to feel.
Why did you come? Why did you come? My memory is filled with vitality.
We are nostalgic.
We become a spirit to guard a house. In someone else’s lot. Heart beats. Life becomes a transplant.
The soul propagated. Feeling like we can do nothing but take root.
We beat. We got used to it.
We felt sluggish. Under someone else’s shadow. Inside someone else’s food. To enjoy others’ freedom. To be fascinated with someone else’s oblivion. To be seriously scared. Expressionless.
Into intense expressionless we. We are going to sprout. You have to be completely immersed.
We were distant from our origins.
Before origins. We could wait.
