Trees are like extinct languages
taking care of their lonely lives

wind spatters leaves curling verbosely
on ground holding archaic texts

words pile on tongue for sounds,
I make a mental munch of silence

your memory is cusped on barks
swinging like loose sentences

hinged on an esoteric grammar,
l stable on its spontaneous growth

you did not read my gestures
they are sprouting like poems

evening strips their shadows like themes
leaving me, wondering meanings