Dave Bonta's "Enigma" is a single question, and it never answers itself. The speaker wonders what a city really is. One possibility is small and solid: a house, or even a chest of drawers, something you could point to, open, and look inside. The other is almost the opposite: a singing master, a figure who teaches and leads, and whose voice reaches both the office and the home.
The shift from furniture to music is the heart of it. A thing sits still and can be owned or measured. A singing master shapes how people move and sound together, so the city becomes something alive that sets a rhythm for work and private life alike. The title, "Enigma," tells us the speaker isn't sure which picture is right.
The mood is curious and quietly wondering rather than anxious. The short lines and the open question leave the reader hanging in a pause, as if the speaker is thinking aloud while looking out at a city and listening to it.