At the café in Prague,
gazing out at a statue in the square,
the servers converse in their unfamiliar words,
like rain pattering on cobblestone streets.
On the subway in Copenhagen,
admiring the clothing layers of an elderly bohemian,
excited teens pouring in through the open doors, invading my silence
like woodpeckers hammering on dying beech trees.
Sampling tapas in a Barcelona bodega,
vino tinto smooth along my tongue, while guests
socialize with long-established friends their voices
like wind through a leafy forest.
Istanbul, finding a rare unoccupied space
in the Grand Bazaar, watching people buying, selling, strolling.
Fast-talking merchants, voices rhythmic
like crashing waves on a rocky shore.
Two Italian women, ordering gelato cones
along a walkway in Venice,
their animated voices kindling my fire
like a bel canto opera.