In the resilient haze of my infanthood
A half-opened drawer of linens
Exudes my mother’s fragrance
Of jasmine, almond, and cloves.
Steeped in the dreamscape
Of plankton-strewn seas,
Cradled by a new-born glossolalia
I withstand emptiness.
Like a passage of truth
In a book igniting my vigilance,
Sustenance atones my hunger,
Initiating primal speech.