After another delve into the deepest catacombs of my hard drive, I retrieved a poem I wrote when in Buenos Aires for the Summer in 2008.
The Sound of Nothing
What is silence?
Is it the sound of nothing?
For if this was the case, how could nothing sound like something?
Alone I sit at my kitchen table
Peering out onto my panoramic vista of downtown Buenos Aires
Pondering this sonic quandary
At first I hear nothing
scanning fruitlessly with my ears, but then, slowly, an orchestra of metropolitan instruments begins to serenade me with their early morning symphonies
Silence is relative
It is what you want it to be.
