If I wrote “merroir”,
dear reader, would
you look it up or pass
over the brine and
move on to the next
line, searching amid
the sand and kelp for
hints and suggestions.
Or, what about “terroir”?
Would the harshness of
the “t” stand against the
“m” and push you to
grab the OED, rifling for
meaning across onion skin
pages of wisdom and time.
For either, let me just say
this, that the place of a
thing is always considered
and discovered in the thing
itself. It should never be
a surprise. But, can the
nuanced notes and finishes
be deciphered to reveal
meaning and context,
influence and radiance of
just where the place has
lovingly rubbed itself off?
Tell me, dear reader, where do
you look for the meaning of a
thing; where do you uncover place?