the licking and lapping of a pomegranate - <br />a crimson yearning for the condensation <br />of the morning dew <br /> <br />a dog barking in the distance <br />is a yet to be unearthed miracle <br /> <br />mitigated against silence, <br /> <br />the creaking of millions <br />of houses, still making <br />their decision to settle <br />in one spot <br /> <br />or the beatific coronation <br />of endless car horns against <br />a beleaguered but <br />welcoming <br />sky <br /> <br />undulating ocean tides <br />lap and lament the births and deaths <br />of a billion sea creatures - <br />saline musicians <br />conducting their underwater symphonies <br />that push against continents <br />and the occasional <br />floating landmass <br /> <br />it's the sound grasses make, <br />rubbing up against their cronies - <br />the scratch beats of <br />slender green drums <br /> <br />or the startling absence of sound <br />as a moon careens, hovers, <br />and scatters across a <br />bewildered sky... <br /> <br />tonight, <br />one lucky soul <br />will have discovered sound, <br />as if for the first <br />time <br /> <br />and that will have been enough.<br /><br />Michael Joseph Ferguson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-taxonomy-of-sound/
