Nameless, that is what I must be.
But even “I” is a name, and even “be”.
Anything which only is,
I must be as anything which only is.
first thought: “which is like this”
second thought: “which is in this way”
third thought: “which only is”,
might be called the final thought
because it was the chosen one,
but that too is a name.
A poem to be called “Final”
Nameless, really,
Slip your name,
the heavy breath of others on your birth,
the heaviness of your own thoughts, of “your” and “own”.
There will always be thoughts,
But let them rise like bubbles from the deep
And free themselves in empty air, leaving the surface calm,
the water more fully water.
Just Poems 