The Hour of the Words

We speak in the leaves.
We don’t need to sing.
Night will be here soon
And then dawn. Not long.
We’ll speak here, come noon.

We’ll talk while shades grow,
Say small things please us
When winds blow, leaves turn—
Days and nights and dawns.
We’ll be here in snow.

We’ll take our turns. Now
One word talks, now two.
We have our own lines,
One long line that talks,
All one hour in all.