The Bones of a Poem Found in Central Park

I can hear
horse hooves clapping
fallen ice cream melting
the runner in the dust between third base and home plate

I can hear
dogs sneezing
birds laughing
the priest talking on his phone about diesel fuel engines

I can hear
sweat dripping
bike wheels whirring
squirrels scraping their nails against bark

I can hear
the boombox offering
tongues meditating
fathers in Ohio being told off by their daughters in New York

I can hear
babies sleeping
plans being made and unmade
friends being kissed
guitars being strummed

I can hear
personal bests shattered
lovers snoring in the grass
old men tapping their canes against the earth once more