Sins of Omission

How can I tell the truth from the ruthless?

I have pretended to oblivion,
slipped from fugue to fugitive to subterfuge.


Why trouble a blue sky?
Why cloud and thunder?


Thor hurls his hammer,
and bison bolt across the plains.


A forest hides much in its trees.
The tree is rooted in true.


True seeps rue.
We are wooden with one another.


When a person recalls, eyes pitch toward heaven.
When a person lies, eyes shift to one side.


Or do they? I hope I do not baffle or bluff.
I hope I will not raise your hopes.


Part of the truth. That’s what I nicked when I left,
long ago. I’d like to know what I owe.


More from Carol Light:

Raynaud’s Weather,” a poem


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