Untitled

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?