Is a language all its own
A simple, majestic thing
That I wish I could speak better
Like learning the underside
Of everything your heart says
But
There are languages I do not speak
I’m good
At catching phrases
Gleaning meaning
I fake my way
Toward a fictional path
Where I can walk with eyes closed
Into the arms
Of nothing
Hold your breath
While the tears start to stab
And your head rolls back
Squeeze the muscles in every part of you
Till your calves seize
Pirouette
To face behind you
A Fibonacci spiral bending arcs
Of seashells and flower petals
And if I could count cards
I’d bet
Those poetic numbers
Might guide…
Follow?
My tumbles toward you
There are visions
And they have no form
A shadow soul
That wraps its deadened words around me
Black lines on a white page
Full of invisible zeros and ones
An electric set of patterns
There isn’t an end.
There is a passing on
One to the next
And a step again
Stalled out
A step forward
A step backward
Tip toeing twice to the side
Three moments holding my breath
For five beats I close my eyes and break
Eight thousand times
Even dizzy and dreaming of a language
I can only pretend to know
I will hold onto the way
That he told me
“I love you”
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