Isn't it all you ever wanted
to understand which parts of yourself
are huddled under the home somebody else
can make out of a word like grace
to hear an echo
would be to die complete,
satisfied that you did indeed
see yourself admired in the world
a bird dips on the wind
in the shape of a lovers body
while traffic
makes like ***
honking to move each other along
eagerly awaiting arrival  
here am I world
birth may have been adequately described as wet
death may be becoming dry
but nothin' is quite like catching life's eye
paper time drawing your mind
like the cornerstone
in some wild revolution