We send you our finest
though our words come
in hundreds of languages
there is only one instrument
used by all our peoples,

we are killing ourselves
over the different edges
of colloquial dissent
and versions of higher idioms
from the same mouths,

translate for us of how
flower buds and babies
reach for milk in the same way
as tongues await the deft drumming
of a sun’s agency of new days,

come from beyond your stellar dialect
remind us that a kiss
is the most intimate grace of sex
that all tears taste of salt
and there is hope for us yet.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s