Eyes fall on him, and I just know
the boy's soul sounds like an intricate piano crescendo.
Chords carrying complimenting rhythms
slicing through the thick, humid air of some summer night
in a hidden park overgrown with ivy vines.

I listen, without strain, to his overlapping notes,
as I grab at my chest, aching with empathy
but lulled by a contentment deep-rooted in recognizing
that there is someone else who shares my song.