Language

isn’t language like water

as it washes dust

from eyes that have been

dreaming for some time

about being awake

all the time.

isn’t language like magic

empty in itself,

but full

as it pours itself

from one raging soul

into another.

isn’t language like air

pithy in its form,

but prolific

when it fills spaces

that cannot be filled

but can be understood.

isn’t language like truth

when it becomes

the mirror

between you

and the parts of yourself

you had not seen.

isn’t language like pain

as it closes doors

upon the sighs,

that come from arriving

too late,

too early.

isn’t language alive

melting,

recasting,

smouldering,

flame into

fire.