hidden behind the world there are faces, not quite the legit kind but the other kind, in the written words of the poets that come close the future, i sit kindly and without remorse. i am the sitter, the one who takes the breath and cries to the skies for help. the eyes turning downward, not quite sure, but still righteous, like the snakes that sit aboard the delta, their eyes turned downward, running along the ground as they seek solace, much like the hummingbird that sits along the neck of the future, and his eyes are keyed on the tree, but the tree is insulted. the tree has been a property owner since the dinosaurs and the dinosaurs were so kind. they used to tell jokes and leave love behind. but the dinosaurs are gone, and the trees must provide shade to all who wish, for the tree is limited in its abilities. the tree can only do so much. the tree has leaves, and the leaves are supported by branches. the tree is fed by the soil, by the dry dirt of the last hundred years, and further down, the dirt of the last two hundred years, and so on, until the core is reached, and the eyes begin to face upward, wondering about sunlight and the moon and the rumors of a tree above ground so large that it provides shade for all of us. you and me too.