each tree has a secret
I swear it is true

the way fountains runs red
when the moon is blue

they stared at the veins
exposed on her hands

sweaty palms
sticky lips
ticking time
swollen glands

tricks trickling down alleys
on cobblestone paths
where a lady in black lay
red on her lap

blank stare compress
the distress left to hide
the people all saw
from pale windows inside

screams like white noise
but the people they knew

the trees all have secrets
the people do too