Nameless

The dust of eons has not named me, why would dust name dust? I who have entered the world through so many women, and exited its bold-faced deceits as sexless as a worm or an apple, how then can I claim any name? I recall being five-years old, or maybe six. a fever took me, I lay in a white hospital sepulcher for days until a mother whispered into my mind: "Not yet." I knew not which mother, for all my mothers have been named by passing dust storms. My parents, who had previously entered the flesh of the worm and apple, also exited my whirlwind life, though after they had named me John, and I am the one who names Jesus now. Today I hear his laughter, I hear his merry laughter.