Of language, they say it's partitioned us all
That Babel’s been lost to our dreams
Yet speech was never what mortared its walls—
The Tower is not as it seems

Throughout every culture, a placid expression
Means freedom from panic and fear
A well-­furrowed brow signals excess of passion
And usually follows a tear

Serenity voices our reason and truth
Disgust is our language of hate
Hyperbole, the diction of boyhood and youth
Surprise, that of chance, and of fate

“The language of man has been broken,” they say,
Splintered by region, religion and race
Yet some may speak Kali, while others Malay
But all can interpret a face.

A warm eclipse its entry brings:
Through glasses darkly, stranded things
Enliven and infect the heart
Setting time and soul apart
Faces slip, and moments pass—
Mere baubles in its cloudy glass
Words cast out and none remembered
But time persists—the past surrenders
The tangible then reappears
Until at last the surface clears
The visions fade, the faces dim...
How coldly then the light seeps in.