238/365: The Aleph of Desire
Your secret notes find me.
They poke out from behind bricks,
stick to bank machines like grocery lists,
and drop to sidewalks from easy pockets.
You bid them to be found,
your heart machinating discovery
to unfix your itchy secrets.
They can't help themselves.
The stealthy aleph of desire
has tucked itself unconsciously
between ink and paper,
a glamour bent to spring them loose
for the relief of their unfolding,
for their communal conception,
for their undoing in lip-read recitation.