Ink drips from branches braided in eternity, heartbeats echo within carbon shadows.
The moon steals glances; time weaves seedlings into dark decembers.
Two leaves dance under a clock’s thrum, unraveling the secrets of twilight.
Roots unravel spatial knots, fractals circling reckless dreams.
To dwell within oxymoronic methods, the trees talk in concentric circles; their voices collide.
Teardrops of sunlight block the sun’s splintering gaze, revealing paths yet tread upon.
Fragments of silence amplify echoing engagements—where do we converge?