Spirited whispers of lives I’ll never know
Rush past me all at once, bouncing off my ears
Like rapid white water on eroded stones
Each one a pleasure to know, to imagine
And soon a tragedy to have lost, never to be heard again

Off-tune keys of syndicate ice cream trucks
Children sprinting ahead of breathless parents
Diesel vehicles shoving by in impatient huffs
Old neighbors exchanging laughs and swigs of Georgi

If I could capture each sacred, inharmonious sound
Siphon them one-by-one from the natural flow their lives
Like brown bears snatching salmon from their voyage to the sea
To be kept safe by my side, a tchotchke on my nightstand
Suspended in time forever, like model planes in a glass jar

Would the vibration of their lives
The rhythm of their marching
The music of their dissonance
Still sing to me?