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How can language become more than words?
The bold heart needs an ordinary larynx.
Conviction isn't talent, fluency is regular usage,
sinks in through the ears, intellect digests it.
In the long night, the name
matters only to those who speak it,
make it meaningful, incorporated into
body and spirit, make it memorable,
broken down into usable parts,
rhythmic incantation of syllables
within reach and beyond comprehension
where it is consumed in the fire
that generates action and births new language.

Language must have eyes
that pierce eyes and unlock treasure chests
eyes that seek companionship.
Language, to be truly alive,
must breathe, for whatever
ceases breathing dies.
Language must do this
with its hands: take balled up fists,
fence posts protecting the head
and release them, finger by finger,
to rededicate two open palms,
praise and surrender.
Language must dance,
click its heels high in the air
above the pavement.