Letter by letter, we assemble building blocks
that tower, that align, that make our lips
purse with sound, that we spit out as words

linked like train cars, coupling and un-,
rearranging into sentences, paragraphs,
pages that, written down or spoken,

become language. Yours might be quite
different than mine, but words make meaning
of the world—your vocabulary landing

like music on my foreign ear, your gestures
visual expressions of sounds, phrases, names,
chugging past me. Never mind—somehow

I can read the grammar of your eyes, hear
the poetry in your voice. Let us find our
lingua franca, our common tongue,

and meet in a place of understanding,
this spot right here, as we stand together
on this common ground, my hand

clasping yours, the definition of shared
humanity. Then, in your own words,
tell me a story.