If words could be translucent

An image throbs.

Shuddering like a bee
caught in the sticky cobweb
held ever so precariously
between two blades of grass,
swaying as gusts of wind blow
not sure of its fate.

Or caught like an ant
in a drop of spilt honey.
Still alive, but constrained,
pregnant with stories
she may no longer be able to tell.

Oh the human desire!
To know.
To understand.
To make meaning.
To name.

But how do we name
without fixing the meaning?
How do words not become
a hardened crust around a tender truth
crushing the very life out of it?

I wonder…
what if our words could be translucent?
Breathing, alive, supple
creating spaces for mystery to dwell
while still allowing
a shared veneration?