i am not fluent in the tongue of angels
it does not taste familiar in my mouth
it is not my first language, nor is it my second

i listen to it spoken, and i try to understand
occasionally a word i recognize slips through the wall of sound
and i grasp for more meaning

the native speakers have the patience of saints
they know learning a new language is difficult
they know being in a new place is strange

i stumble over worlds of words
not due to uneven pavement
but unfamiliar streets

two locals appear, one on either side of me
just as i am about to fall

they take my hands and steady me
and i learn another new phrase
i am building new neuropathways
the angels beam with pride