I 

Sylvian fissure; 

Lateral sulcus: 

Temporal lobe. 

My name from your mouth 

Is a parrot mimicking the television. 

Who am I now that I can’t be remembered? 

Tore hippocampus : your children from memory is none

What else? Your hands, your hair, your then everlasting

Presence that is now slowly beating, fading, almost fleeting.

Amygdala: you are now younger than when we are children:

Where is the toilet, 

How to use the spoon, 

Cry in the middle of the night: 

Stone colored mind, hard, white. 

​

II. 

Raining, no thunder, maybe a tropical storm: 

Collision of matter into matter. Under the roof,

A hot bowl of Champorado, under the bowl, 

Weakened hands: twigs in a termite-infested branch,

Not spirit, not yet. But a hologram that is glassy:

Fragile, ghostly, melting, wet paper mache.