My children
use their thumbs
to converse with
invisible people.
They speak
a language
with no words,
a shorthand
of the hands.
Sometimes
I try using
my voice to
interrupt them,
Yet they contin-
ue wandering
in a place
with no sound,
Where thoughts
become reflexes,
and God exists
as a single letter.
2008 Daniel Thomas Moran
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Good, very good... also, very true.