Sweet sounds

On days when I speak little
I become obsessed with sound
The wordless roar of conversation
Echoing off metal booths
The clacking of dishes onto trays
As breakfasts are plated and served
Waiters calling to one another
Behind the long, curved bar
Where I sit eating my French toast
As the buzz of voices
Envelops and comforts me
Later, the sweet clinking
Of sailboat rigging in the harbor
So like to wind chimes
That I search for rows of them
On mast poles and spars
The crying of lake gulls
And the motors on small boats
Bits of conversation
In Russian, Korean, Italian
And the universal language of children
“Mommy, I’m tired. I want to sit down.”
Small flotillas of geese hunt
In predatory silence
Among the anchored boats
I count fourteen geese
Hoping for handouts from Sunday boaters
But the boats are indifferent
Even with names like “Friendship”
And “Aunt Gladys” and I wonder
Do the wind chimes sound the same at night?
Or louder, competing with the stars
Showing off for the lunatics and the lonely

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