developmental linguistics

I’m like a child.   

I watch everything as it goes and

as I please, and I translate. I translate

and translate until there’s nothing left

to read; I write until I can no longer write

and the notebook on my desk and pencil

in my hand grow tired of the synonyms,

and then I translate a translation

from the translations.


I’m like a child—


I’ve learned that knowing brings me joy,

and so I translate. I search for more.

Intention evades me, still I wonder

what for…


Tell me, do my poems rhyme?

I know my rhythm stands like a

phrase turned one too many times,

but even so, the sound is mine.

Do you hear that wayward rhyme?