true language

May 23, 2012 § 5 Comments

I put down the days
paper, layers of magazines
stacked out of the way
the books, with various scraps
holding my places
protruding from their pages,
set aside
I realize
I must
learn the
language of
all that not by man

the centipede
the oak
the crane
the multitude of topics
they could go on about

the squall roaring in from
the frozen lake
the song of the frog
the hum of the field

the morning salutations
of the tiger lily raising
its face to the sun

the hills
the hills surely know
a thing or two
regarding history

the stream
chanting tales
to a rhythm of its own
as it moves
through the valley

I must have
these and more
these, more

than anything
said by any being
that looks anything
like myself

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