But then there is this swell in my chest
A wave of language, and maybe it resides
more in my gut, though when it moves
uniformly, unexpectedly and with momentum
my whole being then is firing like some pyre
all ablaze on the mountaintop, a beacon
I hope for someone out in the shadows
much as others have been to me, lodestars
when my systems have faltered and darkness
has grown impenetrable all around
breaking with the ferocity of loneliness

Surely you know of what I speak,
that deep hour of night when we all search for some brightness to follow.
I feel myself aloft on some such nights,
and look for you, to see if you are with me,
but how could you follow when I
cannot harness this feral wave of mine,
ancient in its own impermanent might?
It crashes and throws about before sleep
my ears are open, my heart is willing
waiting with patience so that this susurrus,
my own but also yours and all,
might make itself plain in its speech

Ah, but that is not the nature of this afflatus
It roils in its own tongue, one we have searched for
(one we will always search for)
I do not know what it is saying - how could I? -
but I will tell you that it can be beautiful
lost here, adrift amongst the somnolent sea,
and also full of fear, this infinite dissonance,

the roar of the dusk grey waves
and a thousand voices headed for home
all aloft with their own song
so that our melodies are obscured,
identifiable but for a measure here or there,
some agglomerated nature, never quite tuned
until one morning, we find a chord, rising with ours,
and for a brief glint of time, we harmonize