Nameless

They placed their hands upon my skin,
cold as stone, soft as smoke.
A name lingered on their tongues,
but it was not my own.

I do not know how I came to this place,
only that the sky is split with gold,
and the air hums with something older than time.

A procession moves in shadows,
faces blurred, voices low.
They dress me in silk and silence,
a crown of hands upon my head.

A chalice raised, the liquid thick as dusk.
I drink, and the world unravels—
memories not my own bloom behind my eyes,
a thousand lives threading through my veins.

Was I ever real before this moment?
Or only a whisper waiting to be heard?

Somewhere, a bell rings.
Somewhere, the veil thins.
Somewhere, the crows call for me,
and I step forward,
but I am nameless, still.