THE SECRET
December rain falls outside
San Francisco streets washed of wistful hours,
silence holds then leads
to words spoken in the noise
of this bar, these strangers fading in space,
music speaks one language
we speak another,
words open
more roads and paths
to understanding,
you sit smiling,
fate, perhaps, sits here as well
or chance or something deeper,
some unknown wondrous thing,
does it matter?
you are all here
sharing thoughts within questions
Byron once wrote “She walks in beauty”
and tonight I sit linking his line with you,
thinking of all the roads you’ve walked
and travelled to become the name you hold,
your loveliness seen and unseen,
your eyes speak much more than your lips
and hours become lost or was it minutes?
words you mix with curiosity, with insight,
we are already there in communion,
breaking bread with our past and our present,
And I have become a secret
and why not, to move into that space of unexpectedness,
living the fullest short timeline
the chance is here, on a page, in a drawing,
You
I
We.
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