Music lives everywhere.
On a deck above
the silver-haired neighbor sings,
soulful and melodious,
as she sweeps beneath cloudy skies.
From behind the other fence
a piano concerto dances
whimsical and proud
up and down and around the trees.
Birds tweet and chirp and caw and chipper,
while the dogs engage each other
in a gruff and abrupt rap.
Walk these streets and
hip-hop bolts from car windows and
mingles with Tracy Chapman
hiding behind blinds.
Around every corner,
within every backyard
and through every window
a song lives
and declares itself to the afternoon.
This is the new earth,
where we proliferate
like leaves, like petals,
everywhere differentiation mingling in rhapsody.
An absurd conglomeration, an impossible harmony.
Once our bodies moved to a single beat.
Now rhythms collide,
we weave around them,
and through each other,
jumping, prancing, shaking,
knotting ourselves into eternity.
A long shrill voice jingles on Stuart street.
The ice cream truck vibratoes out front.
A blue jay picks through leaves.
An absurd conglomeration,
The speckled face
an impossible harmony.