Reborn as a part of myself goes by as I breathe my time away

Reborn as thoughts can never live more than a second
Reborn as my soul washes itself new every minute
Reborn as the memories i have change by the hour
Reborn as the person I wake up as every different day
Reborn as better than the one I learned with last month
Reborn as the day I accomplish one more year
Reborn as the person I am now birthed of the one portrayed last decade
Reborn at each glimpse in my life
Reborn - a wave breathes the ocean
To be reborn is to pass Time

I heard a woman singing in the car,
about being reborn as a peacock for Krishna
so that she could sit in beautiful penance for him.
While watching whizzing morning work trucks,
and beat-up corollas and motion blur,
I thought of you in the stillness of sleep.

If I were to be reborn I'd like to be a bird as well
so that I could provide the down in your pillow,
and be cushion to your carousel crown
But then I would be lonely when you go to work.

If I were to be reborn, I'd like to be your sunglasses,
so that I could protect your squinting eyes,
and live by your lushest lashes.
But then you'd lock me away in a case, and I won't be able to see you.

If I were to be reborn, I'd be a bracelet made of magic beads,
so that I could promise health around your often pained wrists,
and fix the freedom in your fiery fingers.
But then you'll probably lose me, or unstring me accidentally with time.

If I were to be reborn, I'd like to be your favorite puppy,
so that I could pacify your inner turmoils.
and be held by your human hands.
But then you'll possibly outlive me, and I wish to watch you grow.

If I were to be reborn, I'd be lonely, locked away, left, lost, and outlived-
so I'd rather stay in this life with all of my privileges
of providing, protecting, promising and pacifying
as your lucky lover.

If, as they say, the cells
of the body are replaced every seven
years, then I'm a new being
since my sons were newborn.
I have died and been reborn
neither better nor worse yet remembering
feeding them while dancing to Moment's
Notice, as they attended with new minds.

Having died, as such, I find I do not mind
quiet living with the purpose of a cell
unbound by minutes or moments
as men know them. There are seven
deadly sins, seven ways of remembering,
seven stages in which to have been or continue being.
None of them recur after one's reborn
and none are known to us from before we're born.

Of the two young people to whom I was born,
one has lately died. I do not so much mind.
Although I do not, he believed he'd be reborn
and who can say what happened to his soul or cells?
Perhaps in Christ we continue being,
or with some other deity, as the churches claim monotonously,
      momentously,
demonically and deviously. It seems about as relevant that
      seven
rhymes with heaven and rhyming's a mnemonic device (for
      remembering).

But remembering
what? To go to the daily discipline to which you were born?
I fought seven forest fires, took seven
lovers, my sons are seven, and my mind
is the sole owner and subsidiary of these memories and
      moments.
Unless I am to be reborn
they disappear with me. Masefield's poem continues to be
the most honest and chilling assessment of our souls' and cells'

disbursement. I can imagine stem cell
research may lead to a cure for dementia, loss of memory
about who you are and where you've been.
If one's not been born
this doesn't matter. But if you're being reborn,
in the sense of "he not busy being born is busy being reborn"
      (Dylan),
then it is best and most correct to consider your last moment
of a continuum with moments endless and entirely in your
      mind.

The mind is made of cells and moments, seven billion of them.
Remember to be born and reborn, early and often.