Sometimes I wonder where I’ve gone in between the words I see and words I recall.
In the crib of my mother tongue, I gain a conscientiousness of the world with a growing loss of its sense.

I wake up to the surfaces that come to see me, and the knot of the world billows and unfolds. When I tilt my head, something comes inside. When I tilt too far, it falls out.
I push up my face, and I see more than anyone should. I stay still and silent. When I look away for a moment, all is gone, and I greet myself in the darkness of its layers, because I have come back.

On a bystanding night, I've returned to myself for only a moment. In the morning, I'll wake up with a new taste and new tongue, and I won’t remember who I was.