Secret

Like enraptured the morning freshness
Which pours breaking the day among the waves
The fragile body takes possession of the landscape
And the horizon is held in that image

On the sand you see the body reclined
With the head concentrated in the shapes
That its index finger outlines at random
Disguising not expressing their feelings.

No matter how much the seagulls insist on their flights
Figuring out the labyrinths of incognito
Only she will cry over the written
And it will be the waves which shall keep the secret.

Nilda Lacabe writes from Argentina, and took part with this poem of the first Heptagrama poetry contest.

Arts and expression + Poetry