The background music in our little moving story
was the breeze whispering through the tops
of the trees
the melody
the sound of several adults shushing a child
the colors of their leaves a prelude to an oncoming fall

with these as witness i felt my skin crawl under my shame
in a natural court doing something unnatural
breaking your heart
my only recourse
like a bird flushed from the grass
i took off in my machine and left a scent of gasoline

wandering child, roaming the land as ignorant as anyone
shake of two hands under a hot summer sun
sweat removes the trace
of thoughts we keep inside
seeping out in microscopic oceans full of trash
and all of the traces of what we humans leave behind

oh the things that trees must witness as we speak and move
under their shade we tie ourselves into knots
draw lines in the sand
unweighting trust
ambitious self-interests blinding us to the truth
we move in the court of the earth that feels no sentiment