Revelations

 She told her secret to anything

that would never breathe word

to a soul, because the truth pushed

from her ribs, flooded her throat,

coated her tongue--

but could not be heard 

for all the world.

It was only true. 

She told the moon

and it turned its face and buried

her secret for her 

in the tide.

She told the sun and it 

blushed to hear, and

made fog from the 

morning dew.

She told the stars that were so far away

it would take them forever to hear--

but somehow, they already knew.

And she found herself

telling the God she didn't believe in,

so she could hold her secret

in prayer, at least,

if she could hold him nowhere else.

Faith exists for truths

like these,

when there is nothing 

you can do.

The View from Here

 There is a door

I don't want to close.

Nothing will come of it,

I suppose,

but when I find myself

with little to do

I look through it and 

admire the view.

And every once in a while

a warm breeze

blows through.

Conversationally

 I'm

never knowing just what

I've said

or what you really think;

I'm stuck trying to read

between the lines

written in invisible ink.

I've crossed some boundary,

unaware--

wondering how to get things

square--

or maybe nothing happened at all,

and you don't really care.