Language Becoming…

To peer into an infant’s eyes
Is to peer into deep fathoms
Revealing a vast everything that was
Flooded by wellspring’s primordia reborn

Wading ashore
That place beyond the ebb and tide
Of a fog-shrouded shore
Waits the language of one’s making

Bonded by the unknown
Its sound is mercurial
Its images know little of their genesis
To touch the invitation
Is to be seared and frozen
Its aromatic essence
That of history’s musty pages
Reaching future’s vacuumous yearning

Finally
Its taste blends
A thesaurial palate with
Colors nameless
Arpeggios outside the key of anything
Flowered fragrances yet to bloom
Time’s serene touch of shadowed space

Such is the idiom of one’s creation
One’s imagination
The Berlitz of the mind
Language becoming
Even for those who cannot read