Tuning Up

A staccato jackhammer,
rattle of a loose windowpane,
a frisking wail of wind.
a far off whine of acceleration,

The city is an orchestra
forever tuning, never playing.
What songless song is this?
Who sings it? And to whom?

Sheer noise, of course,
is not a song. And sounds are not
a symphony. This city is cacophony,
no euphony, nor unity.

Nor sentience, nor sense,
a katzenjammer caterwaul
a racket and a Babel.
a jangle and a jive. Yet blazingly alive!

Behind the din a metronome
that does not skip a beat:
this heart of mine that marks the time,
that tuneless holds the tune.