The world begins with
Start with imaginary letters, like
seeds that sprout into words
and branch phrases and
Sentences that flourish into intangible forests
We speak in a thousand different tongues in phrases, in air
Rooted as deep as Amazonian Redwoods.
They stand for eternity.
I remember as a child when my dad drove me to the library
It always seemed such an adventure
bookshelves shelled worlds nobody has ever seen
Secrets no one has ever told
people no one has ever met
It smelled of seafaring spice of
an Olde, Middle Earth
the echo of metal swords
a distant lion’s roar
Like I said,
My world begins with
The radio crackles
like firewood in the car
We cannot see it. And yet
The way the correspondent purrs out the weather
Warms until the cold flees westward down the spine.
Voices mingle with the sound of the engine
Lively, momentous, present
And for a moment I can see them sitting in the passenger
recanting the night’s news
as if tailored just for me.
I have always wanted to warm a room.
The word ‘logophile’ comes from the Greeks
whose own live long after the bones of their poets
Have bequeathed themselves to the sand they came.
"I know that I know nothing"
"Do no harm"
They stand taller than even the collapsed pillars they built.
Perhaps the Greeks knew the world better than
We may ever, in their simplicity.
Or perhaps they knew that they knew nothing
But to simply speak it meant everything.