In the Garden Where Clouds Grow Trees

Here, in this realm of inverted reality,
Where sky meets earth in a lover’s embrace,
Clouds sink roots into fertile imagination.

Nimbus saplings stretch their wispy arms,
Reaching for the ground above,
Their leaves made of mist and moonlight.

Cumulus oaks stand proud and tall,
Their trunks a swirling mass of vapor,
Bark textured with lightning’s fleeting touch.

Cirrus willows weep tears of sunbeams,
Their tendrils brushing the inverted grass,
Painting the air with prismatic hues.

In this garden of impossibility,
Rain falls upward, nourishing the sky,
While roots drink deeply of passing breezes.

Seasons change in the blink of an eye,
Winter’s frost flowers bloom on stratus branches,
Summer’s heat ripens droplets of dew into stars.

Birds nest in pockets of condensation,
Their songs echoing through hollow clouds,
Harmonizing with the whisper of wind-leaves.

Gardeners tend to this ethereal orchard,
Their hands passing through solid vapor,
Pruning dreams and cultivating wonder.