Cupped between two hands, my secret cargo
was murmured into that chest and bolted shut.
The key smith knows me well— like the bar next door, I have an open tab at his shop.
He makes me countless copies
and I tie them to the trunk
before passing it off to the Captain.
Cupping two hands to my mouth I whisper,
“now, tell no one, because it’s a secret
that’s worth telling.” That baggage is sent away, bought, sold,
traded, stolen, and the ship plundered
until it holds no value and my profit is lost.
By the time it reaches the first destination,
my secrecy has lost its own name.