The Language of Leaves

With roots entangled in the soil
whispers travel through xylem memories
tracing lines into the ether.

Constellations of bark confide secrets
in delicate whispers, known but unspoken,
a sonorous echo lost in the full moon's breath.

The leftmost limb extends—an invitation
where sylvan sighs are crafted into forests' hymns.

Spectral prance of photons concurs with
sylvan oracles in rites known to starborn fruits.

Shadows inscribe verses disallowed voices
speak xylematic truth braided in root skin.

Unveiling the tome of petrichor dreams
growing idiosyncrasies where tides are dry.