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 I RISE out of my depths with my language.
You rise out of your depths with your language.
Two tongues from the depths, Alike only as a yellow cat and a green parrot are alike, Fling their staccato tantalizations Into a wildcat jabber Over a gossamer web of unanswerables.
The second and the third silence, Even the hundredth silence, Is better than no silence at all (Maybe this is a jabber too—are we at it again, you and I?) I rise out of my depths with my language.
You rise out of your depths with your language.
One thing there is much of; the name men call it by is time; into this gulf our syllabic pronunciamentos empty by the way rockets of fire curve and are gone on the night sky; into this gulf the jabberings go as the shower at a scissors grinder’s wheel…

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