Ah, the fallacy
in talk of tree limbs
and fragments of the broken-apart.
Those scars opened a rare window
below the cloud tops
and into her room,
where a new dress of fallen leaves
hung in her wardrobe,
fleshing out her understanding
of how that blemish
lingered long enough for
her own intentions,
hidden behind the frown,
to surface.
The myth in her eyes
wishing they could say,
"Might we share this fall together?"