A secret

I've left no trace of passing here,
the psychics will find no residue, no layer,
I have left instead a secret.
I have left a passage
in my destiny, recorded, summed
in another's honesty.

I have trusted that they will tell.
Though I once said please don't, I knew,
even then, that this would escape.
I moved swiftly on then, so as to disguise,
but I am aware of aknowledgement. I can
smell it. An honest smell.

I tumble some words on paper
in space, and make no difference.
The secret is cloaked.
You are no more than a simple carrier,
for my disease.

Cor, Nov 1999