Once I overheard a man who could speak three languages
and had nothing worthwhile to say in any of them
I speak with one language
and my words are many textures
that show you what it would feel like
to run your hands over my heart
and into my life
This flower here
deep yellow and gold
made of many textures
shares a language with that little bee
and one hundred million years ago
other flowers
spoke with other bees
working together
they travel through time
How do I learn to do that
maybe run my hands over the heart
of this little bee
embrace those textures
glance the oldest ridge
to when they met in this place
agreed to a code
carved it into the stone
and I am standing here
with too many words
to describe it
Maybe knowing just one language is too many
Ground to Ground 
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