This is the proof that you were born, the shell
where you became the mother of yourself.
Is that what all this singing is about?
Now the other sons recite the ordeal of
a second birth. The trees swell with the sound.
It seems like wind lifting the leaves or sunshine
arranged into a song. All transformation
should be this absolute. The evidence
of struggle not a jagged scar but one
line, precise as if made by a scalpel,
and the husk preserved in almost perfect shape
as if prepared for a return, a new
guest or a trick to win the weak adult
a moment to recover before escape
by Adam Penna