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I washed up on your shore
and discovered it was a foreign land
and slowly
slowly I learned the language
of coldness
and distance
and drifted on and washed up on another shore
where masks were worn
by all
I learned the language
of shouting
muffled shouting
hands on ears
I drifted on and rode ashore on a wrecked ship
a tempest-tossed, Twelfth Night shipwreck
mistaken identities, disguise
a comedy of errors and silliness it seemed like a good place to rest awhile
and wait
for the rainbow.