Nude November

The trees undress
allowing the moonlight
to penetrate through
the curtains,
color my face,
and put a spotlight
on my secrets,
fears,
and questions
that can no longer
hide in the foliage
when I whisper
them into the dark wind.

The branches look weak now
And so do I-
Bare and skinny arms
reaching out to the sky,
giving it all to autumn-
awaiting winter

I remember
many Novembers
in slow motion,
fragments,
and isolated
moments
playing over again-
The shivering,
As I mimicked,
the shaking trees,
exposing,
still posing,
nude,
through the fall,
as the crispy
colored leaves
outside
are loosened
and taken.

Tonight
stripped already,
I strip some more
in between blank walls
And now I am but a
transparent sentence.

I hate my name
from beginning to end.
I write it down,
peal and tear
off each letter,
shake them up,
spell other words,
and try to say it backwards.
It is an empty word
that only disappears
in an empty time
when there is little to fill
the barren spaces
on the clock
in a month that passes
slower each time.