for my sons Christopher and Alexander, both autistic

It is seldom precise
mostly akin to failure
stricken with desires
to communicate

It is thirsty for words
wrapping sense and sensibility
in tiny fragments of meaning
tinier still in meaningfulness

It strives to carry us
to unknown places of want
lets us roam open landscapes
on broken fields of dreams

It is hungry for the storm
to sail through myriads of thoughts
break from old and tradition
and find its fantasies aloft

It is constantly longing
to fill our insatiable minds
to bring us closer to a truth
we never meant to feel inside

Yet it is hardly ever
meeting our immediate needs
leaving us in perplexity
while we grasp for roots

It is blatantly indeterminant
in its terror and its beauty
longing to drift with the wind
while trembling in the softest breeze

Language is and remains above all
a permanent reminder to everyone
of its limitations to portray reason
and its inability to capture reality.