foreign tongue

the exact pinpoint of a home in a map
it is still locked in the dermis

tattooed through the ages
in a memory of the first song ever heard

the voice of a mother
the sea, the river
a bird –
the first one to touch
the ear
and tell the secrets of the waking world

the wonders that lie
beyond the skin

the pain, the agony
the bliss

all that fruits in time
in a point
in and outside

home
is where the senses lie
when silence takes over.