By Thomas Page

 

Long, long, ago
It has been supposed
That we all spoke
With the same furl of tongue.

Long, long ago
It has been told
That we all spoke
With the same folly of tongue.

Long,  long ago
It has been foretold
That if we all spoke
With the same furl of tongue again
That we could kumbaya
And forget our differences

Long, long ago
It has been proposed
That if we all spoke
With the same fractured tongue
That we could truly surpass language
And forge new understandings

Long, long ago
There was a tower called Babel
That was to reach the firmament
To see if it was really water
Sculpted into air—
A skyscraper
Of the prehistoric kind

Long, long ago
It had been told
That this tower fell
Like a thousand loose notes
Unfurled from a scroll
Marked up with a thousand loose strokes

Long, long ago
It must have been foretold
When cousins became ancestors
That some would pass and hail
To someone making no avail
To greet in the same unfurling of tongue
Making as much sense
As a babbling brook
Heard in the distance
Long, long ago.

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