Names Among the Branches

The breath of the branches holds lost names of seasons.
They bend in the wind like threads of ancient silk.
Spring whispers in pale green, summer burns in silence,
and winter remains listening, among the knots of the trunk.
In the trunk remains engraved an alphabet of cycles.
Each knot conceals a syllable, an untold date.
Autumn spreads golden leaves like lost seals,
while memory breathes among bark and trembling lights.
When the wind calls, the names awaken shyly.
The air brings them back, like sweet rain on the bread of memory.
We learn to walk with the seasons
breath of the branches, guardians of time that breathes.