Carlos, you art is embryos,
These eyes are shaping in the dark;
There is a fate map in this red
Line and that bright red line,
The earliest map of all.

These ayes are shaping in the dark
Toward the requirement of light
And all will grow as they have grown;
Even transplanted will perform
Selfwise, themselves, this one, that one.

Deep in the hieratic blood
Toward sleep toward dream the process gross,
Toward waking move the sex, the heart,
The self as woman man and rose.
Carlos, your art is embryos.