What if we experience before we name?
What if we live before we label?
What if we feel the sun’s warm claim
before we call it “day” or “amber”?
What if we taste the fruit, untaught,
its sweetness sharp, its texture wild,
before a word is ever brought
to cage it, tamed and mild?
What if we love without a role,
a son, a mother, friend, or wife,
just presence, breathing, soul to soul,
the pulse before the name of life?
What if the world, in pure delay
of judgment, lets us truly see?
Not wrong, not strange, not far away,
just being, vast and free.
Then maybe, when the names arrive,
they’ll fit like gloves, not chains or walls,
born not to limit, split, or divide,
but to honor how it feels, to be.