there is something endearing about leaning, then falling, into a song
in a language that you don’t know.
you still understand
the melody, the pauses, they move you still.
you do understand
and what you don’t, you fill in
with the heart’s echoes and the mind’s wallows,
chambers that are familiar
enough to call yours yet
far enough so you can’t see them fit,
but like the words of the song,
you carry them everywhere
and they all carry you; a you,
burdened
not with the curse of understanding,
but with the bliss of soft consolation
by a song —
in a language
you won’t know
— that found you, anyway
