Speak to me. I am in love with language, love the word. To me the mime's art is an empty canvas flecked with flickering images not to be called back, held down even a moment later, too clouded with likely meanings ever to be sure if the one transmitted was the one received. Speak to me. I love the word, the word that in itself sets a scene evocative of the mood. However slight or masking, the word is like one of Johnson's ''daughters of the earth'' with whose help canyons of silence may be crossed, where even those who know the way are sometimes lost. Speak to me. I love language enough to fear that the thought may miss the mark if not captured, pinned down, anchored by the word -- I love the word.