I, bladder bag, am made cold again, my secret inner fire being doused again, again, again, where did that warmth that surrounded me once go.
Who she this whale I once was disgorging my contents and purging my sisters to make a slop, what is this soup
She this whale I once was takes me with a soft hand, speaks gently, makes soft the water and stirs away the hard pieces that come of the night.
I am made cold and made warm, I, basti, am made anew, I am container of slop and holder of soup, I am reborn as bag.