Before Names

by Adélia Prado

I don’t care about the word, that commonplace.
What I want is the grand chaos that spins out syntax,
the obscure birthplace of “of,” “otherwise,”
“nevertheless,” and “how,” all those inscrutable
crutches I walk on.
Who understands language understands God,
Whose Son is the Word.  It kills you to understand.
Words only hide something deeper, deaf and dumb,
something invented to be silenced.
In moments of grace, rare as they are,
you’ll be able to snatch it out: a live fish
in your bare hand.
Pure terror.

–Read at St. Lydia’s on November 27