Another language
by Solana (Sunny) d'Lamant



When I learn to read,
I'll write in a language
which describes in one sentance
clear spaces,

that will explain the depths
of transparent water,

that will depict the value
of eddies or darkness,

that will verify what
the wind said
through
flight-feathers
of swallows, barely visible,

that will organize the vowels
of yawning muscles,
or the consonants of rain's
warm chenille.

This is what I would tell you:
the dance of distant trains,
the freefall of eagles
gossip between pecan groves
and their companion geese,
the constant motion of bodies
in the marketplace writhing
like snakes in a pit,
and the striations of the cramped
spirits of the outcast,
las lastimas.

I need a language
found in marrow
flecked with dried grass
or yeast,
a language rising
from the heart of hot
cave stones and sinew.

To these I have gathered
in community
and promised fidelity.
May I live in this city.







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