I hear you, little brook as you babble
in my ears, I hear you too, little girl,
crying in your mother’s arms, I hear
you, lawyers, strident and demanding.
Some voices are pleasant, and some
can be soothed with toffee, some carry
on like there is no tomorrow,
Some silence themselves to echoes
that are heard no more. Yet others
are soundless, cadences hidden in eyes
that have forgotten to smile, bulldozed
by narrow crumbling walls.
I hear you all, I hear you clear
I hear the whine of the strays
I do not rescue, I hear the cry
of the tears that fall, un-erased.
I hear the moon as it rises and the earth
as it groans, I hear dreams as they sour
the flowers as they bloom and wilt.
There are so many voices besides ours.