To the Silence I pick a lowly plum from an overhanging limb: bypassing judgment of those closestto the sky, in high rise stones, thosewho ride their thin skin higher than heaventhat fits in the smallest hand. Below thick branches the narrow weaveof this moment casts gray and black shade,on the faded sun of your summer dressand blonde wooden sandals: each small thought rises and fallsunder the pregnant silence inside you;all eyes curve with this sunset: dirt from every sunrise covers …