directed by robert zemeckis
In the middle of the night,
the old tree in the well died,
and its limbs crumbled under the pressure of the storm,
green soul flowed out between the pine,
needles sharp in the crook of an elbow,
the old tree died watching the stars,
with yellow on its mind and
something pretty like flowers
on its breath.
In the middle of the night the neighbour's cats climbed the sky with no safety net,
clawed their way up to the cold moon
and lapped up the milk pooling in its craters,
and watched the sun dawn on the dead tree,
and sat with a lovers' smile between their eyes,
and they knew that
everything could lie as still as it wanted,
for as long as it needs.
