Tell me your name; I mean that which you are
Called, out in a crowd of near nothingness.
Do not bury your words protesting,
In the simmering end of summer bon fires
Or the fire from merciless iron rations.
Speak to me one more time, in a speech unspoken,
as the unaltered dreams of a child lost
in the small of their mother’s clever arms.
Tell me your name that I may plant in spring time,
the remnants of tender hope untended.