Nature's Business

I know you don't want to tell the Truth.

You wander in a fog instead
where almost drifts into
maybe, not...
shouldering the wreckage
dread left behind,
shadow tracking hope like game trail scat,
a grey ache for white absolution
or for any path in black.

You fear the mess
you've already cleaned
a thousand times
in your heart,
tears slick like blood
across the floor,
it's all
God
or awful.

Welcome to the
End of Illusion,
welcome to the
All Fall Down,
welcome to the House on Fire.

You wish Truth
would blow the roof right off
drop a storm on the floor
the vigor of The Flood
sweeping everything;

My love, 
don't fall asleep to choice---
you can tell the Truth
and you can hand the broom off,
ride the storm, surge
out the door---

Or ride the damn broom
like the Witch they'll say you are.

Truth is Nature's business,
as are blood
and tears
and storms.