I hear the murmur of vowels,
little spits of consonants in a language
pleasing, though foreign to my ears.
There’s a house of cards at the river’s edge
with symbols beyond my ken,
I see the cards building higher and higher,
see them bend and sway with the wind,
a flag flutters and falls
and the cards come tumbling down.
A river of words flows by,
minnows dart in and out,
a vowel here, a consonant there, caught
in their open mouths. They understand
the river, a silent eloquence
written with flashing tail.
I must learn the art of fishing.
