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