Secrets

Secrets

              "What my net cannot catch is not a fish.¨  Eddington



Drifting in and out of reverie,

Lulled by the drowsy breathing of the sea,

I start awake in sudden apprehension.

Something was said! A whisper, a word half heard,

A message passed, communication missed.


That broad-leafed tropical tree across the street,

Shrugging its shoulders, feigning innocence,

Those white-washed houses, glinting cobblestones,

That squatting child, immobile as the sky,

Are all complicit.


                            Patiently, they wait,

Accustomed to my civilized reluctance

To take the effortless way, become aware

Of the ceaseless flow of murmured messaging

That pours, unlearned, unbidden, from all things,

As each one tells its tale, its pedigree.


Meaning streams unnoticed through the air,

Speaking to the simple and the wise,

Disturbing only rarely a shuttered mind,

Dozing unawares in a postcard scene.
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Barra de Navidad, April 13, 2009.