mother tongue

movement is
our mother tongue
vigor
will
life blood
our first cells
still invisible
to the naked eye
were restless
dividing
replicating
diferenting
transforming

not rock
not fish
not cloud
not horse
not vine
but all of that
and something more

continuously transfigured
migrating endlessly
in the eyes of god

himalayan mountain
milky way
adriatic sea
ant

whatever word
whatever name
as it crosses god's lips
is as though god himself
were embodied
were tree
pomegranite
rose
the morning dew
lifting up
as if it were a pitacoche's wings
exuding the sweetness
of the song  that fills our lungs

only the god of dance
could resuscitate us in this way
from the endless void

the divine gesture
quickening
breath
accent
heartbeat
river
tributaries
all
responding to the same
music
steps
on the beat
of life
of arms embracing the stars
which return to shine again
on the smooth stones
under the soles of our bare feet


—Lorena Wolfman