Wrong Word
Come to think, it might be wrong to say I write. Walking about, held in the hug that holds water to earth, I listen to savor the sharpness of a sound or its fluidity, how far or near it is to laughter, the dry or sweet of ideas. I study to catch what light tastes of mums and hollyhocks--that's it! Mull is the word.
Mull: what cooks and sommeliers do, informed by sensitive tongues. With the M of meditation and memory ending in L of lingual lilacs elided to the double L, following the breathy sustainable hum of the vowel of love.
Yes, write is the wrong word for this--mull. The word is mull.
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