there is a language between
the words, between the
silences
between
the breaths and the sighs and the
wondering quite what happened
there is a language in the craters and the
still-smoking ruins left
after the air raid, and a language
in the straining stretch of the spring green
to the sky which tempts it to flower.
There is a language in falling water
and tears
and rainbows and the stormy current
of the rivers on the maps
we drew to find
you; there is a language in the dust
settling slow in sunlight
in the tea leaves at the bottom of the cup
there is a language in your steps
and the closing of the door
There is a language i am learning
and have learned before.