Conversations in Bloom

In the hush of early light,
before the world begins to stir,
voices rise not in sound,
but in gesture, in glance,
in the rustle of woven thread
and the softness of shared breath.

Stories root where silence once grew,
petals unfolding in time,
each word a seed,
each glance a gentle rain.

We speak in colors,
in patterns passed down,
in hands that remember
what mouths may forget.