Secret Writings

told no one that I had been writing did not scrawl speaking words to illiterate graves no i wrote with a finger across my forehead as to remember i was writing to a thimbleful of light sat in the dark under a low lamp long before the sun could read words told her she who lives in a thimbleful of light told her to sit it out play her part for a while tell no one we will be sexual in that tiny thimble nothing more nor less we will shape an acorn with an erotic script one only we can read willing fingertips can shape an acorn out of a thimble hands and lips can mold that silent speech going to plant a meadow a river a nocturnal sunrise inside of her deep down where nothing can be named no not even a meadow a river or a nocturnal sunrise not writing not talking just planting ourselves in the one body pushing down gardening not writing we won't tell anyone we know about this sex is an open and closed secret a small mystery hidden under the earth and above the sky however at all times it should be revealed to look like a perfectly ordinary thimble