The Unnaming of Things

The Unnaming of Things

(“Israel, put your hope in the Lord, both now and forever.” Psalm 131:3)

After all this time,
before the moment I thought to design
a new philosophy of mind,
in the center of the bridge between
chorus and verse
I was surprised that you were nothing like
what I expected.

Certain I had it all defined,
I became bi-lingual and spoke fluently
in words so concrete they were always
bilateral
or
at least
black and white.

The rains came after my skin had been
baked by unknown suns,
the questions hung like laundry on the line
and had to be taken in for protection.

How could I restrict you to breezes I
had named? How could I presume to understand
your geography? I have learned
(such a presumptive phrase)
to love the anonymous blades of grass
and the rivers that ran before they could
be pronounced.

After all this time,
(before I listened for a mouthpiece)
I can swim for days without hearing a word.
My breath isolates me, and I must come up for air
sooner that when I was younger.
Glide. Stroke. Kick. Breathe.
And the clothes I once wore, now soaked in
river whorls midstream

Baptize me again to know far less than I knew
before.