there's a song singing
in the trees
a worry
growing in the shadow.

they can feel it,
the trees,
they know.

know not what's
to come, but what's
been become.

it's becoming
right now
as our eyes blink
in doubt, in ignorance.

they blink,
not faster,
but more often than not.

setting aside
increments of
lost time.

there's nowhere
to run, except
through time that's
already been happened.

what's done is done.

tears fall beneath
heads on pillows that
know not why they cry.

loneliness is suffocating,
don't you know?
you're not alone
while you're with only you.

truth cuts, but a
wound relieves
pressure.

roots of the trees
tunnel a base of
security for the trunk...

while we expect
verdance upon
concrete...

growth upon faltering grounds.