It started with a murmur,
a low hum blown by coastal winds.
The insistence of waves was static
grown grey in the dusk.
Zumbadorcito and Bien-te-veo
approach, straining to hear.
Apophanies are gained and lost.
It grew in volume:
explicit asemic annunciation.
The wind was ecstatic,
throwing sand and salt onto every surface.
Unreliable narrators stood, hands clasped,
throwing sounds into the sky.
I want to know the difference
between null and undefined.
Variables distinct and obscured,
a blur of symbols.
“Let us go down and confound their language,
that they may not understand one another’s speech.”
Now: keening. A broken sound played
through broken lips.
Lips that they must use in prayer,
lest faith turn to despair.
10,000 words without interpretation,
and always the wind rushing.
A sigil sent into the darkness
signifying unspeakable impulses.
The satisfaction comes from unknowing.
Messages sprout wings,
wheel across the archipelago,
pierce the stillness of the mists,
and mount the slopes of El Yunque.