Tesoro

The first time I had a conversation in Italian, 

I thought I was going crazy. 

Words spilled from my mouth like a hot spring, 

Seeping up from my core. 

I didn't really know what I was saying,

I just knew 

I was being honest. 

It was sound, and secret, and meaning beyond definition.

It was terrifying, and exciting, and seemed a miracle. 

There was no thought, no pre-planning,

Just feelings, 

Some basic truth bubbling out of me.

And when the man smiled,

And nodded,

And spoke, 

I didn't understand it. 

I couldn’t have translated word for word. 

But I got it. 

It made sense, 

Some psychic message imported into me 

Knowledge watering a garden

That before had only been dust. 

I love Italian. I’m better at it now. 

But I still chase that First Conversation, 

Sipping at Greek and gulping down Mandarin, 

Excited for that moment 

When language seems to dissolve,

And magic arrives.