I’m keeping a secret.

The secret is what I dream. The secret is what I yearn.

The secret is in sea foam,

in its cradled growl of the thing from the depths,

and the treasure it guards.

The secret is in the feather of angels’ wing

and in every painting of them.

It’s in their golden splendor, in their vanity,

in the sins behind their teeth.

My secret, my tender little flame,

the thing I can’t yet let loose

lest it run to you.