The Enormous Song

The sun had been quiet, almost
too quiet, like one hot ghost, so no one
got so comfortable, not ever.  A freak
mass ejection can occur at any time and
on any level, even in October.  It's kind
of special.  For nine days and eight nights the
          sun recorded the sounds of all the creatures on
          earth, held the sounds inside itself until it spit them, and
          now we could say, the thrill is not gone, not ever gone.
The sun had been quiet, almost
too quiet, like a pallet of pride building
to thistle.  To make sure we weren't hearing
things, we placed our ears against the earth
and felt the deep swallow.
It filled us.  These strange sounds were
           born in captivity and then released, like some kind
           of eternal jellyfish living in the center of each of us.
           No one ever questioned it.  We found out that
between midnight and three AM, we all mimic
other creatures, dolphins sleep-talk in whale, clams
use the language of hammerhead sharks, and so on,
all just saving up a sound to practice later.  After
all, though tried and tripped many times, we
are born copy cats.  Like feeding
           a clear bird stones, the occasional gem
           from a reluctantly open fist.  Now the bird
           can hold the whale inside itself, thereby
set free from anxiety, a fine moment.  The sun had
been quiet, which gave us a much needed break
from the physical plane.  But it scared us. The
striking of two things together is always
important in some way, even empty
figures, slouching through
           summer.  Others will think you crazed
           to wait on something no one sees,
           but you can't really
help it.