I see a lingering doubt
in his eyes before
he knocks on the door,
flirting with the boundaries
of his language, his words
undo him
He hesitates, a perennial
call for rescue slanting
across his body, a writing
where he does not belong,
no one comes to
tease meaning from
his mumbled phrases
I hazard guesses as if
playing a game of
darts but the arrows
never hit home, perhaps
the target was as
thin as air, his
invisibility
unseen in my
hermeneutic
world
How can banal words
be lost in translation?
