The Limits of My Language

Along the edge of a steep ravine
and the crest of a blue wave

I ride my language like a bicycle.
… sometimes like a steed,
… sometimes like a donkey.

I patrol the bounds of language
along its borders with the universe of thought.

I leaf through an outdated passavant
granting access beyond

I pull from my back pocket
a yellowed passe-partout

I raise them and wave them
under the nose of the blind silence

that stands guard
between the world of my language
and the universe of thought.

And I turn the wheel
… sometimes I spur the steed
… sometimes I shout at the donkey.

And I learn a few more words,
And the border recedes, recedes…