Tree Songs

Branches before a sunrise in winter are old things taken for granted. Sometimes it takes a breaking to turn a head, and even then, and even then. Honey you know the trees don't have no song to sing, and even if, who the fuck would listen to an old man cry. Branches before sunrise are things unseen. Like the rising tide or a slowing heartbeat. Like a wrinkle on the skyline. If you sang to the trees they wouldn't understand the words. It would be like singing to no one. Maybe that's what songs are for, you'll say. And goddamn if you aren't right about one thing. Maybe.