A scrap of silk this evening

Though whether its silk or the slightly charred edge of some old tapestry, I can't be sure.

Secrets always come in threes. Someone told me that, or perhaps I heard it tossed from one careless conversation to another.

I found a secret yesterday, but it was old and cold, forgotten in the dog-eared pages of a library book. I lost a secret years ago, felt it slide through my palms and into the rest of the river. I could never find it again. But I found one this morning, and I watched it scuttle away from me into the halflit corners of the dawn.

I let it go.