Willow Logic

I have a secret.
Tell me.
No.
Please tell me.
No. Put it out of your mind.
Please? If I put it out of my mind, then will you tell me?

She was always like that, even as a kid, secret and 
apologetic,
quiet like a deer moving between the sunshine and 
uncertainty

He yells at her up until she goes pale then resumes his job
 as a painter,
painting all the fire hydrants yellow within a certain 
framework

And she wouldn't always feel so good, all the time, but 
over the course
of the day she'd forget, the dancer in her run amok, she'd 
forget
and from the forest edge, he'd come

Returning home's not to be construed as anything resembling
 a tender mood
stay in my orbit though it's lacking certain latitude

But then it goes late; the been, are, going of another day 
is bobbled and
caught and she says nice things to go to sleep
like Charles Comfort and Mimico Creek

The nocturnal shh of the saboteur whispering, 'there's 
nothing counterfeit
about the summer'- it took big waves of discipline to learn
 they pump the

birdsong in

She was always like that and like now, watching the 
swallows gobble
tonight's complement of blood-suckers, thank Christ, she's 
trying to be
silent when catching a bug in mid-flight might be easier

I have a secret.
Tell me.
No.
Please tell me.
No. Put it out of your mind
Please? If I put it out of my mind, then will you tell me?