To the one who conquers I will give some of the hidden manna, and I will give him a white stone, with a new name written on the stone that no one knows except the one who receives it.—Rev. 2:17
In the end, of course,
it was just
between us.
You held a flake
to my lips—
honey in hoarfrost.
And the stone
you pressed in my palm,
a magnolia bud
stippled with stars.
But my new name
was like nothing
created or spoken.
More elemental
than molecules
of wind, the inscription
of your breath.
This too I took
at the beginning
of my death
and held
beneath my tongue.
—Tania Runyan
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