Whispers of Things I Don’t Understand
I cruise hours of the night
wondering what it means to be human,
to follow narrow one way roads;
my fingers trace disappearing veins,
or are they arteries, on the underside
of my wrists. I can never remember
which of these thin lines runs, like me,
away from the heart, on the gravel path
of lost loves and regrets,
untold wants and options not taken.
The darkness is full of moments
others say matter; everything
is muttered in foreign tongues,
rolling r’s and guttural a’s.
I have lost my ear, my words,
and the map whose trails
would take me to an alpine plateau
where these languages are spoken,
where nighttime air is a pillow,
and every utterance is a wisdom gift
wrapped in a thin blanket of joy.
But tonight the route is elusive,
I can only find thin blue lines,
unpaved byways leading
to unknown destinations.
