has been completely abandoned.
Now all we get are snapshots of your lives.
Unconnected moments float disparate,
longing for each other, for something
outside themselves. Verily, I'm afraid that
language is lost.
No, not forever,
And not from everyone. Some still know
secret chants. They sing sotto voce, but
it's an esoteric art: allowing words to make meanings.
Meanings weave the story together--the real story,
of you and me, of why and how--
the questions that drive us forward and
keep us looking back.
*Poem [To All Poets] by: Marcus Irving Crutcher
Today's word is: caper