Because it is a Name

Not because it is forbidden to name the name

but because there is no thing, no attribute

denominated, yet nothing is the same

in any aspect, no more than the fruit

on trees or sand along the shore, and had it one

it could not be pronounced; there is no air

to give it voice, or in reverse—alone

inside the secret space, the word is there;

expressed, it overcomes reality,

in silence sucking in the consonants,

a secret without a riddle—an empty sea

beyond the furthest planets. No dervish dance,

if it exists inside our mind or hearts,

it is as fragments, perfect broken parts.