I need to learn to speak again.
A new language.
Or search the tongues of man.
Or the songs of the machines.
For new words.
For the old words fail me,
when I come to you.
I can pile them up.
Arrange their jig-sawed pieces
in patterns that work
for describing motorcycles and madness,
nights of intoxication and days of darkness.
But you are beyond my reach.
Your beauty can be comprehended
only when the mind and heart and hand are in concert.
What dry word on a page could be you ?
What phrase would curve as your hip does ?
What word could sing like your laughter ?
A language invented for you
with words that are long and beautiful.
With sounds that make love to the ear
and phrases that leave the page and curl
past your skin to fill the eye
with your face and sigh into the mind
of any fortunate reader.
These words are my search.