secrets like a tree torn of leaves,
each one a truth untold, even
the desperate grip of branches
could not stop the fall. sun stares,
demands honesty, reveals deceit
in her glare. his wooden arms
are no match for her golden gaze,
so all of it falls, half-truths and lies,
and he becomes bare, only bony
fingers of regret, reaching out,
as if she would forgive. she covers
her eyes in clouds and turns away.
Talking to the Clouds 