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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