Wisdoms of the Body

I have been attending too much
to the wisdom of the mouth
with its seeping knowledge.

I should abide
structures like
cochlea and down hair that

register the slick and tick of
the gears of a bike as it approaches.
They refine the vibrations

of the cosmos and inform me of
everything from the fleet
heart-racing of a small beloved

chest to hollow howling
weather to
clothes numbly wrapped

and sloughed. Here is the territory
of my planned study: taps
and clicks and buzzing

tubes as they feed and deliver
the news from space to
vein to brain and back again.

Time
has taught my tongue little,

but it's making the murmuring
universe mute. I wonder if my
fingertips will replace somewhat

the ears' architechture, if I'll
still think thump and pebble have
the same texture

when the former rolls in
my head the latter drops
in a lake. Could I teach

my hands the dance of slang? Or
perhaps I'll continue to live
in the shallows of my most

immature translations.

Copyright Louise Robertson