Sky tried sunny, stuck with grey. Winter-starved branches claw its underbelly. She leaves graceless footprints in the orchard's corridors. Here too, she recalls with precesion his hand measured the length of her curves-- noonday light-washed cerulean shivered into focus, resonant. Summer fled. Fall lingered on. Clutching at dead leaves, he crackled, 'what's wrong?' Nothing. Everything. Sky tried sunny, stuck with grey. She imagines repairing broken promises, sucking sap from the veins, gluing bark to the holes, with frost-worn fingertips.