Speak to Me

Do not speak to my past, speak to me.
Not as roots in the ground
But as yet falling leaves.
Not a forest but a tree,
An exhalation from the deep.
Here is a dance of the soul meant for two.
Histories converge wherever we do.
But the past cannot hear
Heeds no tongues past its ear
So we translate across each ring bearing year,
And hope one day we might look up to see,
That we both grow beneath the same canopy.