Mystery
I throw bottles in the sea
and they follow their destinies
for years and years.
Every day, religiously,
I come back.
I sit on the pier.
The big ships have gone.
The quiet sea predicts a storm.
Seven small waves caress my feet
Iemanjá smiles.
She is beautiful, our majesty of the sea.
Something touches me.
A bottle.
There's a message inside.
I don't know if I should open it.
I don't know if I should read it.
I don't know if I rip it up.
I don't know if I should break the bottle
or if I should take it home.
I hesitate
in ecstasy and emotion,
contentment and fear.
I shake. I freeze.
One second goes by.
One second is enough.
(Mystery we don't understand.)
(Mystery we can't translate.)
The universe streches
in front of me
and I can't see the miracle.
A wave breaks,
pulling the bottle in an undercurrent,
and before I can open its seal
_it is gone
(there it goes once again)
toward the open sea.
It's there.
Impossible to be found.
Patricia Evans
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