I stut-ter
even at the genesis of it,
the littlest summit.
Three arabesques
dotted inkjets on my desk —
ka ta ba
which should propel
intricate new words down
my ruled page.
What if this taproot tapestry
wove the heavens
in my mouth,
where convoluted verbs should
travel south
rather than miss me mute?
“Should” repeats until
I am on my knees.
I don’t know Arabic auxiliaries.