A LANGUAGE OF GESTURES

The poet Moses knew how God speaks
'in a language of gestures, without words
like abandoned dogs, lost tourists
talk with bodies, talk with eyes.

To find the average we add
and divide everything by everything
each desire, fear, laugh, love
rainlight, seaharbor, streetdoor.

And what gesture
I ask you
is the homeless boy
deep shadows in his eyes?

What sign the teenage mother
asking for coins, hard in her hand
a key in her pocket
a place she can clean and lock?

And at the airport, the young man without a leg, half an arm
who learns to accept favors while navigating a body;
it used to be his before this war
the chain around his neck still shining in the morning sun?

Our world has become a dangerous question
where women hide their smiles and pleasures
stand, wait, follow orders, their protests lame
blind to the security line, no matter how slow, how tedious.

Since you left, I too know the look of that lonely language
over our house, a white bird swoops
a bird I never saw before--
​clear eye, sharp beak, straight aim.