Monday, August 21, 2017

without a name

these hands,
these eyes,
these feet,
this skin,
are not here to count
how many lovers they have,
how many hearts they touch,
or shatter, or shelter;
they are here to do
what they must do,
only because
they have a name
you cannot know,
and an ageless song
revving up
every cell and pore,
to a sacred communion.

and I pray today
for guidance -
to live my life
like that tiny wildflower,
glowing in the sun and rain,
to eyes that see pauses
between things,
leaving behind
a hint of fragrance
of these skins
crushed and withered,
lying still now,
here, without a name.


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