Broken Hopeful Dialectics of Marriage

This is the language that speaks us.

What language?
What language speaks us?

We are where we do not speak.
We do not speak here.

What is the name of the missing thing?
What name do we miss?

A language binds us,
inscribes us from birth.

What end of the egg,
thin or fat,
do we crack first?

No one can tell us
how to suck this egg.

Where are we going?

It remains to be conceived,
what steps down what corridors.

What do we call this dance,

this undertaking of grammar
that cuts our knees from under us?

Ha!

How well we sing
these fallen grammars of love.