What did the tree learn from the earth to be able to talk with the sky?

Will our life not be a tunnel between two vague clarities? Or will it not be a clarity between two dark triangles?

I ask permission to be like everybody else,like the rest of the world and what's more, like anybody else:I beg you, with all my heart,if we are talking about me, since we are talking about me,please resist blasting the trumpet during my visitand resign yourselves to my quiet absence.

At night I dream that you and I are two plants that grew together, roots entwined, and that you know the earth and the rain like my mouth, since we are made of earth and rain.

When everything seems to be set to show me off as intelligent, the fool I always keep hidden takes over all that I say.

You can say anything you want, yessir, but it's the words that sing, they soar and descend...I bow to them...I love them, I cling to them, I run them down, I bite into them, I melt them down...I love words so much...The unexpected ones...The ones I wait for greedily or stalk until, suddenly, they drop.

Why do trees conceal the splendor of their roots?