Unspoken

The cell phone rests
against my ear.
He answers:
the same cryptic response.

A foreing tongue,
unrecognizable,
mutters the bitter words.
The absent memories
he suffers,
like bagged carnival goldfish.

He doesn't know-
this incarnate cycle of pain into
deeper
less
forms,
like childish ant magnification.

(I am that ant.)

Still, I call for the words.
The foreign tongue
to become,
one day,
audible.