I have heard the subtle sounds of love
harmonizing just beneath the walla of the subway.
As if the souls of the passengers had crawled
collectively beneath the train and above the tracks.
Dashing along with us,
harmonizing a tone of warm pensive forward movement.
Somehow, someway.
Just forward.
Together without knowing it.
Forward.
I have heard the subtle sounds of love.
They’re not so subtle when you choose the frequency.
They ripple off the oddest places.
They pulse within the darkest of spaces,
shredding through the painful waters of insecurity.
Restoring in us, what we are meant to be.
You hear them in the eyes of cops and criminals.
You hear them on the skin of the meek and mournful.
You hear them echoing the same soft tune, hoping their harmonies
are heard.
Hoping their harmonies are felt.
Without question.
Just felt and returned and felt.
I have heard the subtle sounds of love,
in the hope of victims and in the regrets
and reinventions of the violent and vicious.
I have heard the subtle sounds of love -
In old diners.
In coffee shops and snobby restaurants.
In the harrowing halls of Corporate America
and in the desperate dives of the Sunset Strip.
I have heard them when I am accepted.
And when I am turned away.
I have heard them when I wanted to die.
And I’ve felt them coax me back to sane.
I’ve heard them In every corner of this town.
So many, they are louder than all other noises
when you look the f--- around.
