The Unlocked Drawer

Most secrets aren’t except due
To the accident of not
Being something repeated.

The majority lie there,
Untold, without injunction
Not to tell. They’re the good ones—

Or, they include the good ones,
The best, statistically,
Since they outnumber the kept—

So many things that to know
Might change the world, that are known
Like seeds in barren ground, like

Data in the collapsed dust
Of torched palace libraries,
Like small fields of expertise

In the minds of marginal
Brilliant thinkers, Mendel’s peas
For instance—The true occult

Sits behind the door ajar,
In the loose specimen drawer
Since no one’s ever looked there

Who could infer what they saw.
Those are the secrets deserve
The name, the unprotected.