"she nestles, like a little bird, into the contours of your body" jumps out at me--the image of a baby bird so small and pink, no feathers to protect it from the outside world, dependent on someone else for everything, looking for a place to curl into, to become part of safely. I wonder about the bird image, that someday this child will soar, will fly away, will leave the nest--a common image in our language: "empty nest." And yet we do not speak about the tiny birds relying on us, seeking comfort.

On the second reading, I saw this more as a poem linking to the past--what things are, were, will be always.

The use of two languages lets us see that internal talk not meant for outsiders, not directed at an outside audience, giving me a feeling of glimpsing something very private.