Two girls discover
the secret of life
in a sudden line of
poetry.
I who don’t know the
secret wrote
the line. They
told me
(through a third person)
they had found it
but not what it was
not even
what line it was. No doubt
by now, more than a week
later, they have forgotten
the secret,
the line, the name of
the poem. I love them
for finding what
I can’t find,
and for loving me
for the line I wrote,
and for forgetting it
so that
a thousand times, till death
finds them, they may
discover it again, in other
lines
in other
happenings. And for
wanting to know it,
for
assuming there is
such a secret, yes,
for that
most of all.
*a poem by Denise Levertov from her collection ‘O Taste and See: New Poems’, 1964 although, the older I get, the less I know I know, and the fewer secrets I have and hold. What’s the big deal, so I did this (regrets, I’ve got a few, but then again, too few to mention) absolutely idiotic thing, and then I did it again (this primarily pertains to men-things) but oh what fun. What lessons! What a hilarious ride. And, watching little girls discover the world, whoever they are, wherever they live, is glorious. Heartbreaking. Life.