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
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