My words are translations

of my breathing and are hard to say

in your language.

My tongue, my teeth, my lips

can barely pronounce the words

from my country

where the mountains are steep,

the valleys dark

and cannot be reached without effort

and desire.

I wish I could tell you how beautiful

it is where I live

and have you understand my language

and hear what I want to say to you.

Listen and you can hear me speaking to you

as clearly as I can

about my country.

You will hear my heart singing

and know the river flowing through my veins.

Just look into my eyes

when I try to speak and you may see

what I can’t say.

You might see beyond my faltering words

the sunlight from my country.

You might even see the shadows

of late afternoons and smell the sweetness

of the air I swallow,

the taste I live to devour

and I wouldn’t have to say

another word.

It is where I would take you

if you want to follow.

But, oh, it is difficult

to speak with words that do not breathe,

still, I struggle to translate

in your tongue what I want to tell you.

One day, perhaps, I will find a way

to speak and not stutter,

not grope for words.

Perhaps, I will know how to say

simply what I have been trying to

tell you,

and you will be touched

in places few have reached.

You will know the happiness

and sorrow I have known.

You will feel in the silence

between my words

the love swelling in my breath

and we can be together

for a little while

loving one another

before we part.