miner

language is a mountain

and i, with my pen for a pickaxe

am a miner

 

hew away at the excess

i sort my jewels

some as rough as slang

others near perfect diamonds

of highfalutin speech

 

the ones i choose to polish

i regret they are much used

and perhaps become more

beautiful with age

 

i look longingly at the piles

around me

the words languish there

they glint dully in the darkness

 

i forget what they mean

i strive to hoard them

but like crumbs of panners’ gold

they slip away on the current.

(written 15 november 2017)