For something which can hover
as still as something moving can do,
it does seem rather odd…
Sound
Cracked open,
the door admits
sound waves…
There’s no song so sad,
as silence when alone,
Not the kind of alone…
Dinosaurs fly here,
Ever present, all around…
Thund…ring above,
Dark, bright, ever crackling…
If no one else played music again,
and someone came across a violin…
The sound is grating,
And pierces right through attempts…
backdrop of peepers
flash of brilliance: bullfrog’s boom…
you know how when the talkers
and the chatterers
and the gabbers
are absent from the conversation,
sometimes the quiet ones speak up
and you learn something, you
get surprised?
