at dusk
watching arthritic tree trunks
change color
with the flaring hues
of sunset,

after we’ve created what we call a ‘secret’
something private that you and i share
something we would never wish
to be revealed
to him
or her
or them
it’s as if the secret
takes on a life of its own
it’s as if
it becomes
possessed of a personality
it’s as if
it becomes
a living entity
that breathes its inspiration
inside our bones

and we acquire a burning desire
to share it with someone
a desire that chars our vitals

and we either succumb
to the coercion


we sit with the secret quietly
and coax it gently into submission
so the insane desire to share pretends to hide
and all that’s left quite brazenly
is the bruise-red flaming of held confidences
torturing us unto confession