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