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.

without a sound

you showed me how to live
when you walked away
in the quiet of a breath
unheeded,
with eyes rooting
for the intractable darkness ahead,
not turning back even once
to see what was left behind,
no tassels left
to dance with the wind,
only one cord
that binds you
to your undying song -
the one you are here for,
the same song
that leaves sing
in the thick of a forest,
even as they die,
without a sound,
without a fuss,
without one memory
of eons witnessed
over lifetimes
of green to brown.
you showed me how to live
without a sound.