The Yard Party

Evening breezes swirl the voices
through my open windows,
dusk-swaddled neighbors talking,
their syllables ride the air to me,
the words slurred by drink and distance,
but the emotions sounding through.

Their feelings dance behind
their masqueraded phrases,
the notes faintly shrill,
with minor chord stresses
that plead for reassurance
all is as it should be.

The voices dwindle into silence
as my neighbors detach.
Nothing said was quite a lie
nor quite the truth,
but only word-wrappings
for their hints of need.