The sacrilege of speaking a name
without knowing its meaning
is an act of trespassing
on the grounds of language.
A language of the burned cities
that live in each other,
of the relics we carry in our chests
and corpses in our finger-ends:
all of these ring with the skin of teeth
and clang with the purse of lips—

when uttered unwisely
we shatter, we stumble,
we forget our bearings
just as a car doesn’t know its way
without a human’s device,
we lose ourselves without the right
name for our bodies,

your body is a temple
you have not yet found your way out of

and I apologise to every sentry
who has stood like a weapon
around its perimeter
only to be informed
that their fortress
would crumble

if ever the wrong mouth
said its name.