The cold orange hands of the salamanders still wrap
and unwrap the baby he dreams he was
then long before there was any human family.
Then their work was just beginning on the
damp stones and mosses too.
He had to be as little strange as possible.
They were making the world & working on him too.
He was warmer but less strange than a moss or a stone was，
that saved him.
The moss worked on the stone too.
The stone worked on him like a mind
he had to grow up to talk to or
dream to but without turning strange.
The cold hands run over him.
They read the body he dreams of as a baby's to the stone.
Before there was any human family the work
that make him was this work just beginning.