Use a new language like a spice. migration for that exact job is the spice trade of today, and we the merchants of this new coarse pepper to flavor our dissatisfaction that we have simmered slowly for years into a soup. Wear a new language like a raincoat only in its cover, keep a sense of identity, using it both as a shield as well as an excuse to mix with the water. Stain your lips with a new language in the color of a local material using beetles and red ochre vermillion and lead and pretend to carry shades of geography and ecology. Bear a new language like a corpse of a loved one taken to their grave. Understood partially claimed hesitantly, appropriated unfairly, on its grave its web of reference. Tremble as you walk under this weight. Wash a new language like dirt from your hands. You played in the soil all day making clay pots and now you are ready to soak another place in like a shallow sponge that crumbles away as it ages.
Mostly I brush life off my shoulder when it falls gently from a tree, or when it grows from my shirt like lint. Mostly i sigh it away like a laugh from an unfounded joke or a waft of extra air in speech. Except sometimes.