In nomine, nihil-poetry of Frank Feldman, p. 1 of 1 pp.

In nomine, nihil
We higher mammals have our names, In a dangerous world we seem to need themBut they clip our wings with them at birth When they teach us to adopt and heed them. Names make us think we stay the same From the womb’s first sounds to our deathbed dirges, But in the infinite flux of matter and spirit, When a condition arises, a new self emerges. What a shame we haven’t countless names For each new self that we become(Or if, instead, we’d none at all, Which would certainly be less troublesome!) You weren’t once another being, A leaf or stalk or Joan of ArcYou were everything and everywhere, Your home is chaos, deep and dark. We often have no name in dreams, That primitive, preverbal place(In mirrored halls of bliss and horror, We glimpse our own primeval face.) All the illusions of time and space Collude so we cannot discern That we’re only the dances of countless waves In the ocean, to which they all return. It’s likely, at your eulogy, They’ll say your name-loud, clear, and often, But you were no more that silly name Than you’ll be that thing inside the coffin. We violate your cosmic vastness When we shrink you down to fit a frameWe shut you up in an airless tomb Each time we call you by your given name.

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