Language 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.