To New Poetry

Start with the unknown
Language, completely
Unknown, inhuman

Possibly, but still
Actual language,
Not Esperanto

Or Elvish. Language,
And someone chanting,
Intoning phrases.

Now, let the linguists
And bit-decoders,
The algorithms,

All have at it. Wait
For them to drag it,
Chanting included,

Into your known world—
What’s still strange will be
Clues to what it is,

Clues to your mistakes.
Skim off that strangeness.
Set the rest aside.

Take known languages.
Try to make them bend
To fit that strangeness.

They won’t be themselves.
They won’t be unknown.
They’ll be something close.