The speaker wants to step outside the human mind and feel what it is like to be other creatures. One by one, she imagines a chipmunk in its warm burrow, a wasp building a nest, a wolf listening to a deer, a partridge bursting into flight, a salamander facing a road. Each image is sensory and close-up, full of smells, sounds and textures rather than abstract thought. The title suggests the text may have been passed through machine translation, which could explain some of the odd phrasing, though that is an inference from the title alone.
Then the mood shifts. The speaker admits, "my little heart has limits," and turns the question back on us. Can we remember being a newborn? Do we really know what it is like to be ourselves, when we are "unconscious of nearly everything"? The poem begins with eager curiosity and playful imagination, then ends with humility, even a little unease, about how little we understand our own minds.