1997
Yes

can be written in multiple millions
of characters,
bellowed on billboards
20 feet high or whispered in low
tide sand with a brush of three
sable hairs,
sung plainsong in twenty
seconds of echo cathedrals,
set in your lucid translucent Times 14 pt.,
traced in the sky in the cursive
of contrails.
I give this to you.
There will never be language enough
for the yes, yes, and yes
I would convey if I had all of space
for my scribbling.
Three letters in our native tongue,
two gentle consonants cradling
the ordinary vowel,
will have to do
for now.