“What is thy name? Thy true name?”
I whisper silently
to all the faces crowding me,
my fellow travelers.
“Thy true name?” I ask the old man,
sitting,
waiting at the edge
of death;
“Thy name, I beg you,”
I ask the immigrant, idealism
cracking at the edges;
“Please,” I ask my colleagues,
buttoned up and serious;
“Thy name?” I ask the baby
-- who knows but cannot tell.
Silently I beseech each one,
“Thy true name? Tell it to me
that I may know thee truly.”
They will not, cannot tell me,
nor do they even hear the question.
I am in despair, surrounded
by faces I do not, cannot recognize.
Later, sitting alone,
the answer comes to me.
I return into the world
and look into the eyes
of all the faces circling me,
each one waiting
to be recognized and named
and loved.
To each I whisper silently
“Thou art a Child of God.
Beloved.”