A Brief History of Babel
Borders, windows.
Sound.
Trudging up the steps, I am winded after six flights,
my words smothered in the breathing.
The Gate of God proffers no favors.
When the spirit gives me utterance, what shall I say?
Curiously, no direct link exists between Babel and babble.
A collective aphasia could explain the disruption. One’s
inability to mouth the proper word, another’s
fluency impeded by context.
A stairway terminating in clouds.
Syllable by twisted syllable, dispersed.
Separated in symbols.
And then,
writing.
To see the sunrise from behind a tree, you must face
east: higashi, or, a discrete way of seeing
the structure of language unfold.
Two characters, layered. One
thought. Direction.
Connotation. The sun’s
ascent viewed through branches
as through the frame
of a glassless
window.
Complexity in simplicity.
Or the opposite.
I have no desire to touch heaven, but my tongues reach where they will.
Who can know what we say to God, but God?
And the breeze winding through, carrying fragments.
* * *
My poem, “A Brief History of Babel,” was drafted during the August 2015 Tupelo Press 30-30 challenge, and was subsequently published at Bonnie McClellan’s International Poetry Month celebration in February 2017.
O at the Edges 
I think you’ve articulated a little-accepted truth – only God knows what we “say” (imply, implore, deny, enact) expecting a Godly acknowledgement if not compensation. We “say” far more than we are aware of! (I suspect filtering of rehearsed commentary is routine up above.)
I hope you will do the 30-30 challenge again – some of your prior 30-30 works (like this one) offer intriguing perspectives.
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And there’s no control over how someone (anyone) will interpret what we say. Sometimes the most innocuous statement will cause dismay or evoke ill-founded rage. Language is strange. And wonderful!
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