I remember when we used to
Cup our hands like spoons
and weave our hair like weeds
Plant apple seeds in the backyard
and watch the supposed trees recede
Cloth the new action figurines
with our own scissor-cut clothing
Just to lose our energies and fall into
deep afternoon sleep
Blind was he who
climbed ten mountains while breathing
for one who does not lose his breath over
rock and stone
cannot possibly say he climbed more than
If I were to metamorphose would I leave
that shell of myself behind?
or barter it for less than owed?
or carry it on my back—
a shell of my existence before existence?