That Sound

There’s a certain vocalization,
the top of a sung syllable that breaks
into halves like a split particle.
Chirp and bark echoing over each other.
Fragmented call of vulnerability welded to one
of aggression.

I’ve heard it once. Someone I loved
made that sound once. Someone I loved
made that sound singing a song
in Italian.  I was sure I would recall that song
for all the rest of my time on Earth,
and I have all but forgotten it — all but
that one sound at the top of a syllable
in the chorus, the one she was singing
when she turned
and saw me listening
and stopped.