Interrogating Things

Give me, Juan Ramon demanded, the exact name of things.
Who can we go through to things?
Week after week for a whole year, the things of the world churlish, petulant, cruel, lovely, finally mute.
My eyes cling, he confessed, sadly, to things.
And they turn on us, asking: Why do you worship the truth no matter how unreal?
A . . . . Z