Wrap ourselves in the shared mantle of our mother tongue,
Shaping phonemes that you've known since birth if you
Were listening closely enough.
Still we sit too far apart to feel the common warmth.
What beautiful thread have you picked at and unravelled
To give pattern to your waking thoughts?
Is it so different from my own, here where the synesthetic experience of
Language overwhelms and annihilates, uplifts and enervates?
The hieroglyphs of the ancients are no more mute than your pictograms,
And I cannot help but wonder if this is what deafness sounds like.
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