wisdom

When wisdom cries out,
the streets ring
with the timbre of your voice.

She sounds like you.

Whispers dropping alms,
echoing leftovers of Solomon.

Simple ones often
simply listen, finding more than
simple words.

My poverty begs towards
this mumbling absence,
ears cupped,
straining to catch any
offered change.

Cloudless, prowling thunder.

I listen with my head to the ground,
well within its grasp,

afraid to breathe
too loud.

Fearing sound,
knowing that my simple silence
may bring it near.