Rendered Speechless

The problem is,
I have no purchase.
Each day is filled with words
all jumbled, falling, tripping over themselves
before they even get through that front door.
And then when I speak, 
I realize that what I am saying is quite meaningless.
And I remember the monks, 
 barely audible but somehow making points
while pacing and twirling beads.
I remember my grandfather sitting in silence
While everyone squawked and scrambled to be heard
at the dinner table.
And I watch my daughter,
who watches me,
Her tongued tied, so that every grunt and squeal
hits the roof of her mouth with purpose.
Her lovely experiments remind me
I need to tamper with my words,
Give them measure before they leave the gate.
To communicate out of necessity, and wonder, and observation-
each word crafted with effort and effect in mind.

Friede.