Somewhere, long ago, I lost a language.
Words, like jeweled coasters perched light on window-sills,
just out of sight; carefully lettered, dim-lit hallways,
diffused in a dappling dawn –
a reverie in lost sentences referencing only themselves.
I sought what little I could find,
rummaging in refuse, refusing the catalyst of tongue
and tooth when, better equipped, silence met me instead.
Still, as phrases found the furniture of faith,
they stood a bit taller than the mouth that spoke them,
and, in a final flash of familiarity, returned.