the unnamed one, I mean The Unnamed One, I mean, Chlorophytum comosum
AKA Spider plant
also known as arachnid, tarantula, wanderer   

of the
smeltery, distillery, a being … posed.
positioned, just so,  to know
in the flow of their mane of spiderlets
and tendrils
and bottomless grace

Great
–and terrible–
things

If you ask The Unnamed One what kind of animal they want to be,  you will feel the faint tickle at the nape of your neck. 
Like a lover.  Like a snuggle.

But cold.

They know there is power in the naming of things.  Of displacing the norm of disclosure of trivia.

Only a
Fool.

Goes where everybody knows their name.

On the sacred and profane, they keep their own counsel.

… you know, I’ve not fallen once since they came home?

If you ask me what kind or animal I want to be, I might end up giving you my social security number.

I am not great at this game.

The Unnamed One waits.
Protects.

Sees.

And does not waste their time with games such as these.

But

Sometimes, in the silent web
wrapping

us in their orb of unimaginable protection

It’s too quiet to hear, but almost …
–I am a lion, already–