Strange process writing,
Recording little squiggles
In rows across a page.
Picasso knew, either one or the other,
Curved or straight.
Then it depends on eyes that
See and understand. Takes a while
Like hieroglyphics on a dark night.

Thankfully my lover understands my lines
in spite of my intent.
Lovers are good at that.
Cuneiform transforms to Ionic or Cyrillic
Or Roman with one look and the whole thing is understood.

Arabic and Chinese translate into the look.
We live in the tower of Babel or is it babble?
One of the two. Is has to be.

Hector must have felt like that
Defending himself against the spear
That pierced his neck but not his throat,
Wearing someone else's armor,
Someone he'd killed,
Which made Achilles mad because he'd loved.
Love and anger never mix well.

But then came the writing and the words.
And stories, so many stories
So many deaths.
So many words
Across or down a page.