I don’t know what to make of us.
I could drum up a passion if I chose,
pound the surface hard enough, long enough
until the core carried the beat’s inside echo.
Ah, the lighting up of your face when we met,
the covert second glance at my photo (in the strapless dress?),
the comfortable, stirring brush of you arm against mine,
the slight smell of your sweat in the light rain…
something could be.
And yet, your unassembled English cannot break my heart.
Conversation can only go as deep as vocabulary.
Shall we be ruled by language long before an ocean intervenes?
Are we doomed to “to,” “too,” and “two” —
doomed to return to one and one
so soon – how great the effort to be other-wise.
Bravo! Be brave. Speak. Laugh. Or let your lips
convey a meaning on some deeper level.