The way the current unearths 
Words we failed, 
To hear buried 
Beneath bygone pebble 
And the way the sea fails 
To drown 
Out the rolling of  
Paper into passing messages. 
 
It sounded like montar un pollo, 
This sonically rolled shout, 
But the sand settled around my heels, 
Still 
Or had it been tomaten auf den augen haben 
Though the sun had not yet begun to set, 
The sky colored in its reflection 
Of all we tried to hide in transit, rolling in. 
Still 
It might have sounded as buscarle la quinta pata al gato 
But there are too many 
Things that have left me searching 
For a new sense 
And where did this notion of identity 
Arise that it is to be known, 
At any given time 
Still 
 
The resounding dies irae before 
I twisted 
The cap may have given  
Away the nothingness of my subsequent confusion 
The way trying to understand 
Is as foolish as trying to share 
The way loving is no less 
Irrational than giving what you love away 
 
Echoes of waves pass,  
And I keep 
My jar sealed for fear the sound  
Will be lost-- 
 
Existence that cannot be known 
Until opened 
 
But I give it to you anyway. 
Can you hear through the glass? 

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Oh, My Word! is a weekly updated blog featuring fiction, poetry, drama, and essays for the world. #OhMyWordWednesday

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