M E M : מ
Thinking’s chariot starts with it:
this merkavah of measured listening,
wherein mum’s the ready word
riding mem, the mouth closed,
lips resting along one another,
kissing silence and yielding hmmm.
Wheels of scorn and praise
turn and bear its throne.
S A M E K H : ס
Even the thought of roundness raises
hopes of arriving into a middle
and being between where everything happens
and can because it hasn’t yet—
the hole of it filled entirely
with nothing but a faint possibility
lying there in a line drawn
round in the mind like mountains
encircling a town full of sound
and when you’re near its fountains
