I want to know if it is cold after the storm comes. If everything remains wet or if it shrivels like a raisin. If the must melds to the essence of each wall or if the scent of flowers prevails. I want to know if the edge of each crisping leaf holds on to the last breath of summer. I want to know if the edge of each iris holds memories of uteran slumbers. If not, I want to know how to be reborn.