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Language Has Not Yet Evolved
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by Jacqueline Ostrowicki
language has not yet evolved
to the point where it represents
the world fully.
some words are missing.
like the name for what passes
between us; that certain kiss, wordless and grasping,
whole yet broken, and always
under the cover of dark.
what to call the persistent tangle of
socks, shoes, jeans; our miscellaneous items of clothing
that writhe upon the floor as if they
possessed a life separate from our own?
or the juncture between sleep and wake—
that half-second before the sun breaks open
the shell of the sky—when i rouse, sensing your even
breath, hidden beneath covers only a foot away;
and i know (deeply and vaguely) that i have only passed
through you, like light?
these nights remain a mystery;
infinitely longer yet shorter than day,
urgent in their transience.
a lovers' equinox can never exist.
i have happened on a fugitive.
there is no word for this.
the dark has not yet slipped away; vanished
like sorrow or a tune. it is still here, still
playing, and your breathing remains an
unbroken promise, some kind of enchantment i've
fallen into.
this is a moment i can touch, but am not allowed to keep.
there is a word for this, i know;
but cannot remember it yet.
it is coming to me, this word;
winging its way through layers of light,
but it hasn't quite arrived.
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Jacqueline Ostrowicki
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