SECRET LANGUAGE

Against the decline
of mystery
what secret language hides us
in pollen, blood vessels ,memory
marked in hand washing
like the scene of Pontius Pilate
or Lady Macbeth,
or in a Noh play
acting out our own explanations
not expecting
its treacherous dialogue
to reign us in lemony words
or as we pass ancient tombstones
hoping a pulse with miracles
will save our existence
yet how to ask for signs
for any spell of faith
in a Zen garden
as life begins in a yew leaf,
wishing to be on Odysseus' ship
over a convex sea to be beach blue
or at our canvas to show no madness
yet here we suspect former
atomic particles
may still sparkle the next day.